


Buried

by BJackson



Series: Two Leapers [9]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Natural Disaster, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: Sam suffers PTSD after the events of the previous leap, leaving Al in charge of saving the family they've leaped into from a mudslide. But things aren't as simple as they appear when they discover a deadly family secret.
Series: Two Leapers [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/645482
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

This had been the hardest leap Al had ever endured, and he'd been through hell and back. Nothing--not his years as Observer, not the streets, not Vietnam--NOTHING, could have prepared him for this dank cesspit. Sure, it might have looked like the Project, but it was pure evil incarnate, and that was where Sam had been trapped. Tortured. Mangled. It didn't seem real. Not this. Not Sam.

Al got him out. He always would. But he wasn't sure he had saved him yet. 

There had been an explosion. Sam was in the rubble, but only because the blast had switched him with his double just as the place had been blown to bits. Which, by the way, was the only reason either one of them was alive. But Al wasn't sure how long for either man, and it scared the shit out of him. Scraping his hands and knuckles, he desperately dug out his friend and hoped he could get him to a hospital somewhere in this godforsaken place.

Gooshie was distracted. Exhausted and still in shock, Al stood in awe and watched as the doubles were surrounded by a heavenly blue glow and sent somewhere in time to make things right. They were free. 

The other Sam had made it. Just barely. Al felt a slight release of the grip on his chest, despite everything. The other man had proven how committed to change he was with what was seemingly his final act--and now, evidently, GTFW was giving him and the other Al a second chance. That had to mean something. The Al currently left in the rubble of their prison hoped they found the peace they were looking for, and through his weariness he wished them luck. They were gonna need it. 

So was Sam. 

Swallowing, Al glanced over at Gooshie as he stared ahead with an expression of wonder. "Gooshie, why haven't we--?"

GTFW did always have a flair for timing. Mid-question, Al's vision flashed blue. 

\-------

"--leEEAAPED! AAAAGH!" The horse Al had appeared on was none too pleased by its new rider. With a violent buck, Al desperately grabbed the reins and held on for dear life. 

A loud shriek. Gooshie flung up his hands and protected his face as the horse's mighty hooves passed through his body ineffectively. Gooshie's yell frightened Al, who in turn yelled right back. The horse bucked again, and Al grabbed the reins tighter. A stitch in his side pinched and he gasped.

Jeez! Trying to gain control, Al got a good grip and pulled hard. "Whoa there! Whoa!" In spite of his hysterical entrance, he was confident in his command. Gradually, if a bit unwillingly, the horse calmed down and left man and hologram to catch their breaths. 

"Oh boy..." Al panted.

It occurred to him he had done this before. Sometime in his life; when or where escaped him. Well, you can't have everything. He was just proud of himself for being able to take control of this beast immediately upon arrival. Not bad considering how in outer space he felt these days. But...why did he still feel like the horse kicked his ass?

He was on a small farm, just on the edge of a thick, swampy forest. The air was hot and humid and already began to cling to him, but he didn't care. Anywhere would be better than where they were. 

Everything sunk in and his body sagged with relief. They'd leaped just in time. He rested his head in the calmed horse's mane. 

"Admiral, are you okay?"

Half chuckling, Al adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses he now found himself wearing. "Yeah, no thanks to you. What were you--?" He suddenly stopped himself, furrowing his brows and staring at his hands. They were still covered in scrapes. 

Gooshie puffed his way over with concern. "Admiral?"

Al blinked and shook his head. "Uh, nothing." A beat. He frowned and looked up. "Wait a minute, what are you even doing here, Gooshie? You were here the instant we leaped in." Swiveling his head around, he straightened up. "Hang on, where's Sam?"

Put on the spot, Gooshie suddenly wondered that as well. "Strange, I don't--"

They were interrupted by a little girl's terrified scream. Instantly on alert, Al put aside his questions and jumped off of the horse, groaning at the hard landing. The stitch in his side ached. He wasn't exactly The Lone Ranger, was he? Opening up the gate, he ran as quickly as he could toward the sound. 

"Over here!" Gooshie waved him over from where he had popped in, next to a large tree on the farm. A tiny girl of 8 or 9 with olive skin and mousy hair was beside herself with panic. 

"Grandpa! Grandpa!" she called frantically to Al, "Help! Sam fell out of the tree!"

Sam? Al looked to where she was pointing and sure enough, there was Sam in a pile on the ground. 

"Sam!" With a rising sense of urgency, Al sprinted toward them and fell beside his unconscious friend. Pulling him over on his back, his breath caught in his throat. 

Sam looked exactly the same as he had at the end of the leap. The same grime, wounds--the same battered face. The same danger. 

He was dying.

"He only did it because I dared him!" the little girl cried, distraught, "I'm sorry, Grandpa! I'm sorry!"

"Get to the phone; dial 9-1-1," Al ordered as calmly as he could. 

"Dial what?"

"9-1--" Al shut his eyes in frustration. This must be before that was in use. Perfect. Again, he tried to remain composed. "Where's the phone?"

Taking the cue, Gooshie popped into the house and pushed his head through the wall. "Straight inside and to the left!"

"It's--"

"Never mind, I know where it is. Stay with him!" 

It was an order for Gooshie again. While Al ran inside, Gooshie popped back out and wished he could do anything other than watch in horror. 

Well, not watch entirely. It was no secret that blood made him faint, though it would be difficult to look at Dr. Beckett regardless. Just what had happened to him at that awful place? It was too much to imagine. He hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked; after all, everything looked bad to him. 

This was done to Dr. Beckett because they'd found out who he was. Had Gooshie been the one who'd tipped them off? Was this his fault? He really, really hoped not...but there would be no way to ever really know. The thought haunted him already. 

_Please don't die._

The girl was so scared. Gooshie wished he could give her some comfort, like when his little sister got frightened during a thunderstorm. "I-It'll be okay," he assured her, even though he knew she couldn't hear him, "Your grandpa is going to take care of everything. Oh...please stop crying."

She held tightly onto Sam's limp hand, head bowed. "Please get up, Sam...I'll let you go in my room and read my books. You can do whatever you want. Just please get up."

Before too long, Al was hastening back. Trying not to betray his panic, he gripped the little girl's shoulder and said calmly but hurriedly, "Help is on the way, okay?" She nodded. "Okay. Now what I need you to do now is go inside and wait by the phone in case they call back. Can you do that for me?" Anxious to help, she quickly bobbed her head up and down before racing back into the house. 

Having diverted her attention, now Al could focus on what was happening. As soon as she took off, he scrambled over to his fallen friend. "Sam? Hey, Sam, can you hear me?"

"Ziggy says the ambulance will be here in 17 minutes and 36 seconds," Gooshie assured him, punching away at the handlink for any and all useful information. 

"He's not breathing."

"What?"

"God, Sam, don't do this..." Al begged as he began chest compressions. Nothing. He had to start again, keep going until Sam came back. No matter how hard Sam fought it, Al was going to make him listen to him. "Come on, Sam," Al gritted through his teeth with frustration, "You're not gonna die. Not after everything I went through to get you back!" 

It seemed as if Sam heard him, because sure enough, there was a ragged breath. A barely audible rasp, but he was breathing again. With an exhale of relief, Al sagged down like he'd dropped 300 pound weights. 

"Just hang in there...please."

If Sam heard him this time, he wasn't talking. 

\-------

Al had forgotten just how primitive medical care was in the 70s. At least, that's the decade the make of the ambulance seemed to indicate. Finding keys to a truck, he'd followed the old piece of junk to the hospital with the frightened little girl--his new granddaughter, whatever her name was--in tow. Now they found themselves waiting, too much anxious time on their hands, as Al observed the cave dwelling of a facility they had to work with. 

A squeaking sound. A young man who couldn't have been much older than 18 shuffled down the hall with an IV stand, long hair in his face. Al realized he was cradling his arm to him, wrapped up in thick bandages, and his mind wandered to a hidden place. A hospital not too many years from now, a POW with similar long hair clutching his arm to him, terrified and angry at the world. The memory tightened his muscles and filled him with an primal instinct to run. Subconsciously, he rubbed at his old injury.

The young man caught his gaze and he quickly diverted his eyes. 

"Grandpa?" He'd almost forgotten. Swiveling his head around, he faced the scared little girl he still didn't know the name of but now found himself responsible for. She tugged at his sleeve and he leaned in to make them level. 

"Yeah?" It was more annoyed than he'd intended. He was slightly distracted, not wanting to miss anyone who looked like they had an update.

"Is Sam going to be okay?"

How could he answer something he didn't have a clue about himself? But she was just so small and lonely. She wanted some comfort, a kind word, and he had very little to spare. But that wasn't her fault, it was this stupid leap so far. He replied softly but honestly, "I don't know, kiddo. I don't know." He wished he had more to tell her. But you can't lie to a kid. Too many people lied to him when it mattered. 

She stared up at him with watery brown eyes and he couldn't take it anymore. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. 

"Marcus?"

A pause. It took a few moments to realize someone was talking to him. Turning around, Al saw a doctor and jumped up anxiously. He quickly addressed the little girl. "I'll be right back, okay?" Putting on a front, Al smiled tightly and followed the doctor out of earshot. 

Immediately this facade fell away. "How's Sam doing?"

The doctor tightened his mouth and set his brow with grim concern. "I won't lie to you. It's not good." 

Stroking his chin and blinking rapidly, Al desperately fought the urge to panic. Take it one step at a time. Not good for the 70s didn't necessarily mean not good for them. They had the future on their side.

The doctor's familiarity suggested that he knew the guy he'd leaped into. Small towns, Al supposed. Doctor...he checked his nametag: Dr. Lysanne. "He went into cardiac arrest twice on the way here. We were able to stabilize him for the time being, but these are extensive injuries." A sympathetic press of the lips. "I know that isn't what you want to hear."

No, it wasn't what he wanted to hear at all. God. Two more times.

Eighteen years ago he met a bright young man with starry-eyed dreams of traveling in time. Today, he might be burying him in 1970-something. It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

Al blew out a deep breath and stared wide-eyed at the wall as he took all of this in. This wasn't happening. Hell...who was he kidding? It was. But he couldn't do anything about it...could he? Maybe if he found out more about Sam's condition he'd have some sort of solution. Something to give Ziggy, to make it right. Somehow. "So what, um...what're we talkin'?"

Lysanne pulled out his clipboard. Jeez, he needed to read his chart to list everything? "He has massive internal injuries, a bruised trachea, as well as multiple lacerations over his chest, arms, and wrists; his right wrist is broken as well as three ribs, and there's fracturing near his left eye. There's a possibility that he may lose it, but we won't know how badly damaged it is until the swelling goes down." He lowered the chart and looked toward Al sympathetically. "You and Jill need to prepare yourselves for a long recovery...if he makes it through this."

_If_ he made it through this? Of course he would make it through this! Who did he think he was talking about? Al didn't know or care who Jill was at the moment; all he heard was that last part, ringing through his head via megaphone. This was too much at once. 

Closing his eyes, he ran his hands down his cheeks. "Oh _god..."_ This couldn't be real. It was some long, elaborate nightmare. "'If he makes it through this'? What do you mean, if?" 

"I can't make you any guarantees. The fact is, right now his internal bleeding or the shock could kill him."

"You're a doctor! You're supposed to make him better!"

"We're trying our best. You getting angry isn't going to help the situation."

He was right of course; Al had to get a grip. Leaning against the wall, he expelled a deep breath and counted to ten. He just wanted someone to blame; something to fight. 

"I'm so sorry. I know how hard this is after what happened to him before."

Al's head whipped up. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear they were talking about the same Sam. But the look of empathy from the man seemed to indicate something else. What had happened to this kid before they leaped in?

"You said he fell out of a tree?" Lysanne sounded skeptical, but Al was barely in the room right now. 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, he did..."

Looking concerned, the other man folded his hands in front of him. "The injuries are extreme for an accident like that."

"...it was a big tree."

"I suppose so..." He nodded, somewhat conceding. "I've seen some of the trees around your land...and a few well-placed branches could get in the way on the fall down." He frowned. "But it's the damndest thing..."

"What?" 

"It's strange, but...he also seems to be displaying signs of hypothermia. I can't figure out how that could've happened."

Losing blood in the snow with just a jumpsuit to keep you warm would do that. But obviously, Al couldn't tell him that. What was he supposed to say? Sam was another Sam entirely, and he was tortured by a group of evil time travelers bent on revenge? Al shrugged, acting puzzled. "You've got me there, Doc."

The other man was confused, but he didn't press it, much to Al's relief. This leap didn't need another complication. Sam's mysterious symptoms would have to remain a medical mystery. 

Right now, Al was just worried about keeping Sam alive. Everything else came second. The eased tension of the convincing lie quickly corroded away into gnawing worry. "Can I--Can I see him?"

Lysanne shook his head. "Not just yet. We'll let you know when he can take visitors." Filled with frustration, Al reluctantly acknowledged his response. Noticing someone across the room, Lysanne spoke quietly, "Looks like Jill's here. I'll let you two talk." And he was gone to tend to another patient. 

Speaking to a young, blonde nurse was a hysterical woman in her mid-forties. The same mousy hair and big eyes; she was definitely the little girl's mother. So would that make her his daughter? The nurse gestured toward him and the moment Jill's watery deer-in-headlight eyes landed on Al...she became furious. Charging forward, she made a beeline straight for him. He hadn't seen a look like that on a woman who he wasn't currently divorcing.

With a wounded snarl, she pushed him violently back, catching him by surprise. His side ached again and he wheezed, but he didn't have time to recover before Jill laid into him, her high-pitched voice filled with venom. "Why weren't you watching him?!" 

"I--Well--"

"I told you never to leave him alone!" She shoved him again. Deciding that wasn't enough, she began to beat her fists into his chest. Her screaming turned into sobs. "You were supposed to protect him, damn it!" 

It struck him harder than he thought it would. He had no defense because it was true. He was supposed to protect him...and he'd failed more miserably than he'd failed at anything in his life. "I...I know. I'm sorry." It didn't seem like the right thing to say, but it was all he had. 

Too exhausted to keep being angry, the woman broke down and fell into his chest, searching for some sort of comfort. And once again, Al found himself the shaky foundation keeping a scared little girl grounded. If only he felt as strong as they thought he was. "Oh, Dad! How could this happen again?!" She sniffled and held him tighter. "Not to my baby...!" 

How was he meant to respond? He didn't know what had happened to Jill's Sam or, truthfully, what exactly was happening to his own. But if GTFW believed in small favors, he was granted one when his new granddaughter raced over and spoke up. "It was my fault, Mom. I dared him!"

Jill looked guilty now. "Oh Hattie, no...it's not your fault." She left Al's side, suddenly much more together, and knelt down beside the little girl. "I'm sorry. You know how I get with Sam. You didn't do anything wrong." She wrapped her arms around her comfortingly, leaving Al once again stuck in an awkward position. He was too worried about Sam to be able to focus on these two. 

"Psst, Admiral." It was Gooshie, keeping his voice down to avoid alarming people who couldn't see or hear him. 

Finally, someone who could come up with some answers! While Jill was tending to her daughter, Al discreetly led Gooshie away so they could speak.

"Gooshie, what the hell is going on?" Al demanded, finding it difficult to keep his voice at a reasonable, non-attention-attracting volume, "Please tell me that pile of microchips found something."

"Well, yes and no." This earned Gooshie a reproachful glare. The programmer raised his palms placatingly. "D-Don't blame Ziggy this time! The whole Project's in disarray. We're still trying to recover after the last leap, so we haven't had a lot of time to research this one."

The last part temporarily distracted Al from his anger. "Recover? Recover from what?"

Fidgeting with the handlink, Gooshie squinted one eye and shuffled his feet. Scratching at his ear, his stammered, " _Ohhhh_ it was nothing, just a small...um, bomb." He hurriedly held up the handlink and began to press buttons. "Anyway, we have Ziggy working on the leap now, so--"

"Bomb?!" Al's eyes widened with alarm. "What was that about a bomb?!"

This was gathering some attention, which wasn't lost on the nervous hologram. Causing a bomb scare wouldn't exactly be ideal, so Al quickly retreated to the place he'd nagged Sam about all these years: the men's bathroom. 

\-------

As Gooshie followed him through the wall, he continued the conversation. "Don't worry, Admiral, we have things under control. The bomb was defused and--and nothing got blown up. We've just had to give the Project a once-over to make sure Mr. St. John didn't leave us any other surprises."

Al slowed down a moment, a dark cloud overcoming him at the thought of Edward St. John. Never in a million years would he have envisioned him as the kind of man to--well, it felt strange calling him a man. That bastard couldn't be dead enough.

Taking a deep breath, Al leaned against the sink and pulled off his glasses. They were experiencing near-misses he didn't even know about. And to think, Gooshie could've just not shown up again and they'd have never known what happened. They could've lost everything.

After a moment, he looked toward his friend with worry. "Well...is everyone okay?"

"Oh definitely!" Gooshie squeaked reassuringly, "No one was hurt. We just need some more time."

That was a small, if uncomforting, relief. "We haven't got time, Gooshie," Al said through his hands. He waved toward the door. "Sam's in trouble. Why is he so badly hurt?"

"Because...he was injured on the last leap," Gooshie stated obviously.

"Yeah, and I got shot in the stomach once, but I didn't look like that when I came out of the other side of the leap." Al shuddered a bit when he thought of that one. It had been damn close. The only reason he made it out alive was Sam. 

"The leap wasn't instant in that case."

"What?"

"Time is perceived differently by you," Gooshie explained, "Even though a leap  _appears_ to happen in a few moments, days or even months can pass for us. So even if you leap out with an injury, your body has had time to heal before you leap back in. But this time, obviously...Dr. Beckett hasn't had any time to recover. And...neither have you, it seems."

Following Gooshie's eyeline, Al again noticed his scraped knuckles. From when he was digging Sam out of the rubble...and now that he thought about it, he'd gotten a fair share of nasty hits to the side that had been bothering him. Well, that explained why he felt like he'd been through a few rounds after leaping in. He folded his arms and hid his knuckles under his armpits self-consciously. "But why would Whoever's leaping us around do that? Why leap us in instantly when Sam's halfway in the grave?"

Gooshie shrugged helplessly. "Ziggy's looking into it." 

A long-suffering sigh. Al was too tired for this. Turning around toward the sink, he splashed water on his face and eyed his reflection. He looked tired too. But for once on a leap, Al felt young. Marcus was in his late 70s, his tanned skin turned to leather, and with shocking white hair. It looked like he'd worked outside for a long time, the type who thought "retirement" was a dirty word. 

"His name is Marcus Lambert," Gooshie provided, "And he's got a daughter--"

"Let me guess: A daughter named Jill, and two grandchildren named Hattie and Sam."

Gooshie nodded in confirmation, smiling pleasantly. "You've got it, Admiral."

"What about their dad? Is he in the picture?"

Seeking answers from Ziggy, Gooshie put in the appropriate information. "No...it looks like Harold Rich left the family five years ago, after..." He trailed off. 

"After what?"

A pause. "...after their other son, Virgil, fell down a steep incline and broke his neck. In 1968, he and his brother Sam went into the woods near their farm and got lost. Two weeks later, they found Sam...with his brother's body." He lifted his head sadly. "Gosh, that's awful."

Now Al understood what everyone had been talking about. Sam Rich had been through enough for a lifetime, and certainly too much for a kid. "God...no wonder she's so protective of him." He glared one eye skyward. "You leaped us in a little late, don't you think?"

"Now I know why the boy in the Waiting Room reacted so badly..." Gooshie commented more to himself, thoughts on said Waiting Room.

This recaptured Al's attention. "How did he react?"

"He won't talk at all," Gooshie explained with concern, "They found him huddled in the corner, scared out of his mind. Wouldn't even let me in the room. Dr. Beeks has been talking to him, but I assumed he was just disoriented. This is the first time we've encountered something like this since I've become the Observer..." He frowned, setting his mustache askew. He didn't like that thought or the responsibility. "I wish I had something cheerier to tell you."

Al's expression was hard. "You wanna make me feel better? Find out what we leaped here for and how we can get the hell outta here."

_Clunk-shoom._ Gooshie stepped into the light of the Imaging Chamber. "I'll let you know as soon as we do." Before he closed the door, he paused. "Give Dr. Beckett my best."

Al's mouth tightened in appreciative solidarity. He'd let him know whenever he could.

\-------

Never had Al wanted to stay and leave a place so badly. He hated hospitals. The worst moments in his life happened in hospitals. His father died in a hospital. Hospital records told him Trudy was gone. He found out Beth had left him at a hospital. It didn't help things that she was a nurse, and every time he looked at something while lying in that godawful bed he thought of her. Everything was sterile and smelled like medicine and was filled with haunted souls that never became whole again. 

He was determined not to add Sam to the list of tragedies.

So here's what he could gather. He was in Burnside, Lousiana on June 12th, 1973, at least that's what he gleaned from the calendar by the desk and overheard conversations. That meant school was out for summer, so Hattie and Sam must've been playing outside quite often. But...probably not without their grandfather. From the sounds of it, Jill wouldn't let them stray too far from home. 

Now that Jill wasn't using him as a punching bag, he saw her as she truly was: a terrified mother with too much to carry. She'd gone through this once before, only that time one of her sons hadn't made it back. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a child. She held Hattie close and gently stroked her hair, staring across the room and into another time and place. 

The blonde nurse had returned. He'd learned her name was Jayne Weston; she was in her early 20s and fairly green at this. Her looks were so striking it was almost a cliche; under different circumstances Al would be very appreciative of the view. He and Jill both straightened up when she approached. "Dr. Lysanne says he can take visitors now, but he's still unconscious." 

"How long until he wakes up?" Jill asked anxiously. 

"We don't know. Could be in a few hours, could be a few days."

Al recognized that tone. A few days could be a few months, could be never. He'd heard the list of injuries but he was hoping for better news. For some miraculous turn for the better. But then again, he'd seen enough during his own experiences to know that when it looked like a lost cause, the chances of things suddenly changing were nada, zip, zero, zilch.

Well damn, this still didn't mean anything. Sam was tough. He'd been through hell, but it would take more than a slimeball like Edward St. John to take him out. Al bet once they walked through that door, Sam would be up and trying to solve every wrong in the world.

\-------

What he saw instead was a violent slap back to reality. Next to him, Jill bit back a sob and grasped Hattie tightly. 

Now that all of the grime had been wiped away, Sam was now several shades of black and blue. His wrist was in a cast and bandages covered the other one, as well as part of his arms, most of his chest, and his left eye. The rest of his face and throat was swollen and bruised, with a cut down his badly-split lip. All in all, he looked like someone who'd fallen out of a 5000 foot tree. 

It was the eye that bothered him most, remembering the doctor's words that he might lose it. His stomach turned as he imagined Sam waking up to find it gone. How absurd. Traveling through time and losing a piece of yourself along the way, and for what? Not even saving someone's life, just a bunch of sickos who set out to make the world a worse place. 

Jill and Hattie made their way closer, but for some reason Al stood rooted to the spot. Hattie simply stared as her mother took Sam's hand. "I'm here, baby...I'm right here."

"He's gonna go away, just like Virgil," Hattie whispered, still staring. 

Before Jill could even respond, Al had woken up. Quickly crossing the room, he knelt down to face Hattie. He couldn't stand to see her so hopeless. "No, not like Virgil," he said with conviction, "That was then, and this is now, Hattie. Maybe fate had other plans that day, but right here, right now...Time, or Fate, or Whatever is telling Sam to do something else. He wouldn't be here if he was meant to die." 

He had to believe that. What else was there to do?


	2. Chapter 2

"Gooshie."

As if caught by an invisible hook, Gooshie jerked to a halt as he was passing by Dr. Samantha Fuller. Or, as she was called by people who felt more free, Sammy Jo. She looked as haggard as expected for someone whose entire operation had just gone to hell. And as she was fairly new at this, she was determined not to be the Director who sank the ship.

For the last few hours, the Project had been in chaos. After the discovery of St. John's bomb, the entire place had been evacuated save for a brave skeleton crew and a handful of experts that were called in to comb for more explosive party favors. But the evacuation had two purposes. The bombshell news that one of their top men had been secretly conspiring against them meant that they were on a tight lockdown until some serious security breaches were looked into and answered for. But on a dark and personal note, it was going to be immensely satisfying for Sammy Jo to see the look on Weitzman's face when it was brought to the Committee's attention what his supervisor had done.

"Yes, Dr. Fuller?"

The scientist brushed her hair out of her face, frazzled. "How're things going on the leap?"

"Wellll..." Gooshie didn't want to give his boss bad news. He wobbled his hand. "I-It's not the best it's ever been."

"Do we have their leap objective yet?"

"I'm working on it right now."

"Good. How's Dr. Beckett?"

Fiddling with his clipboard, Gooshie knew he had to be truthful. "Still unconscious. I don't think he's doing very well."

"Oh..." Sammy Jo grew even more weary, but it wasn't just the disarray around them. She always tried to keep a professional, distanced aura about her now that she was in charge, but unfortunately it wasn't her strong suit in the slightest to hide her emotions. She'd always felt a strong connection to Sam, first as a young girl idolizing his accomplishments, then as a proud scientist privileged enough to be brought onto his top secret project, and then...she didn't know what. "Do you know if--I mean, he's going to get better, right?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Gooshie answered with regret, "But I really hope so."

Sammy Jo nodded, frustrated at having a time machine but not knowing the future. It was too early to find out anything on any front, and both of them had a lot of work ahead of them. "Okay. Keep me updated on the situation."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and Gooshie? Thank you for saving our butts." Sammy Jo managed a small grin of approval. Neither of them were in good spirits, but she knew that without him...they might not even be here.

Gooshie smiled back, proud of himself. Sammy Jo went back to work and so he did too. The leap wasn't going to solve itself.

\-------

Day turned into night and still Sam stubbornly refused to wake up. Despite Al's inspirational pep talk to Hattie, the longer Sam stayed out, the increasingly afraid he became. He...wouldn't be leaped in here just to die, right? It didn't make any sense.

_Come on, kid. Open your eyes already._

He wasn't the only one catching z's. The day had been much too long for Hattie, who had fallen asleep in her mother's arms. Now that her daughter was sleeping soundly, Jill addressed something that had been concerning her regarding her father. Under her breath, she asked, "Dad...what happened to your hands?"

Oh. Al was knocked out of a daze. He had forgotten the scrapes on his knuckles. He shook his head and waved the worry away. "It's not important now," he whispered back.

Evidently not quietly enough. Hattie stirred and groggily rubbed her eyes. "Mom..."

"Oh..." Jill sighed tiredly and pushed back her bangs; she hadn't wanted to wake her. "Yes, Hattie?"

"I'm hungry..."

Looking to Sam, then to Al, Jill decided her son wasn't going anywhere. Reluctantly, "Well, let's see if they have anything in the vending machine..." They stood up. "Dad?"

"No. I'm okay."

A sad smile. Jill gently squeezed his shoulder and left.

And now they were alone.

Cautiously, Al stood up. He wasn't sure why--was he expecting Sam to suddenly rocket out of bed and surprise him? Something about Sam made him wary of coming closer. He'd seen this a lot back when he...back then, and he learned not to get his hopes up.

Grabbing his chair, he mustered up the courage and pulled it up beside his friend. Taking a seat, he stared long and hard at Sam's battered face. "Okay, I get it," Al conceded, rolling his eyes, "I screwed up. There's no reason for you to keep punishing me like this." He imagined, if Sam could hear him and speak, he'd tell him he was being quite silly and to stop talking to people in comas.

Al kneaded his fingers against his lips, suddenly finding less humor in the moment.

"Look, I, uh...I'm sorry I wasn't there..." He blinked rapidly. "...when you, uh...when you really needed me. My only job for so long was just to keep you alive, and...and I couldn't even do that right." Sam was silent as usual. Didn't he know he was apologizing here? Al changed tack, began to plead. "Kid...just please wake up. How often have I asked you for anything?"

Sam wasn't doing him any favors tonight.

\-------

Jayne Weston, St. Elizabeth's newest nurse, ended her shift with a heart that broke into a thousand pieces. She just couldn't stand to see that little boy like that. Through the day she continued to do her work, but inside, she fought the urge to just wrap her arms around him and weep.

Sam Rich didn't know her very well, but she knew him. Because, well, everyone knew everyone around here in some way. Though he was ten years younger, her best friend used to live nearby and she would often see him and his brother playing in the woods outside his farm. That was before that awful day. The day everything changed.

Ever since, she'd wanted to reach out to him. Let him know how sorry she was for his loss. That she remembered them. She'd never told anyone but her mother this, but she'd decided to go into nursing because of Sam. She wanted to take care of people...she just hadn't expected to have to take care of him so soon.

This family wouldn't lose another child. Not under her watch.

\-------

With heavy eyelids and a heavier heart, Al slouched inside the Rich household with Jill and Hattie in tow. Hattie had long since fallen asleep, so her mother carried her inside and went upstairs to take her to her room.

This morning had been such a blur, he'd hardly noticed what the house looked like. It was...cozy, lots of warm browns and deep greens. Paintings of deer and ducks decorated the wood-paneled walls and homemade quilts and throws were folded over the furniture. A little too rustic for his taste, but he imagined Sam would feel right in his element.

Sam. He exhaled deeply, leaning heavily against the mantle over the fireplace.

After bending slightly, he winced as his side twinged again. Funny, he hadn't even thought about it since he saw Gooshie last. Curious, he lifted up his flannel shirt and surveyed the dark bruising covering most of his side. Nothing life-threatening, but it still ached like a son of a bitch. He'd recover. All in all, he was far luckier than Sam. He tucked his shirt back in and decided to focus on something else.

A picture of the family caught his eye, only there were a few more people in the mix. There was Marcus, another woman--his wife?--Jill, presumably Harold--a heavyset man with a mustache--a much younger Hattie, and her two brothers.

Al picked up the frame, wondering which brother was which. They were similar in the way most boys under double digits were: round faces, big smiles with matching big teeth, haircuts their mother gave them. They were around the same age, one with lighter hair and a smaller nose. They must have been close.

"I miss them." It was Jill. He hadn't heard her come in. She stepped closer and wistfully looked at her once larger family. "Every day."

Al wasn't sure how to respond. He set the picture down.

Jill turned to him softly. "I didn't mean what I said before." Maybe she didn't mean it, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. "I don't know what I would do if you hadn't moved in after Harold left. Sometimes I feel like...you're the only thing keeping me together." Her eyes began to water and she bit back her tears, tired of crying.

Al felt for her. It couldn't have been easy after everything she lost, and then that slimeball had the gall to leave right when things were at their worst? A parent doesn't leave their family when things get hard.

He touched her reassuringly. This was all fairly new to him; he'd never had a daughter before. But it felt right. "I'm not going anywhere."

\-------

In a hospital room ten miles away, a time-lost leaper began to stir.

"Al's calling."

"Hm?" Sam looked up from the Mason jar of green beans he'd lost himself in. He'd been organizing the pantry after years of falling into disarray.

With a half roll of her eyes, Mrs. Beckett grinned knowingly. "Were you daydreaming again?"

"Maybe a little," Sam admitted sheepishly.

He'd been thinking about how happy he was here. Home. When he was sixteen he couldn't wait to leave such a small world, to finally move on to a bigger place that could keep up with him, but currently he wondered why he ever left. It fit. Made sense. It smelled like leaves and sounded alive and everyone was loved and safe.

"I said Al's on the phone. I've put him on hold."

Al. He hadn't even been on his mind. It had been years since they'd spoken...why was that? For some reason, something unpleasant loomed in the back of his head when he heard the name.

But he didn't want to think about that right now. He was too comfortable where he was. He set the jar down and sighed contentedly. "I'll call him back later."

"Are you sure? He said it was important."

"This is important too."

"Okay." She shrugged. "I'll tell him."

"Thanks...Mom?" She stopped. Sam wasn't sure why, but he felt compelled to say this. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sam." Mrs. Beckett said warmly. She started to leave again, speaking over her shoulder, "Oh, and when you're done fiddling with green beans, Katie and the boys are back. They're playing outside."

Sam's grin widened.

\-------

"There's my little sis!" Sweeping Katie up in a big hug, Sam felt as if he hadn't seen her since...well, since they were kids. But that was silly. She'd just gone out for a few hours. Hadn't she?

"Hi to you too," Katie laughed.

"Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam! Pick me up!" One of his nephews ran up to him, arms reaching with desperate excitement. Sam obliged, snatching up the little boy and swinging him around playfully.

"Here comes the cyclooooone!" As Sam swung, the boy squealed with laughter.

"Now me! Now me!" The other boy was jumping up and down. He wasn't going to miss out on the attention.

Sam took a deep breath and wiped his brow with exaggeration. "Phew, I don't know if I can do two in a row. You kids are getting so big."

"Oh _pleaaaaase_..."

"Oh alright then," Sam gave in very easily, "Anything for..."

He froze. What was his name again? And for that matter, what was the name of the other one?

He should know his nephew's names. Shouldn't he? But the longer he searched for them, the further away they were. This was troubling. His brain hadn't swiss-cheesed in a long time. That part of his life was over.

"Sam?" Katie was watching with concern. "Is everything okay?"

"I...I don't know."

"What's wrong?"

If only he had the answer. Something twisted inside his gut and seemed to turn his stomach inside out. Suddenly he didn't feel well at all. "It's--It's nothing."

A loud ringing emanated from inside. Louder than a phone should be.

"You should answer that, Sam."

He frowned. "Mom was getting it."

"It could be important."

He didn't want to answer that phone. Because if he answered the phone, it was over. Staring at the door, the house seemed to drift further and further away.

"You can't keep him waiting forever."

Couldn't he? Just a tiny forever to hang on to this? Everything away from here was terrifying and hard and loud.

Turning to face his sister, Sam was filled with grief. He quietly pleaded, "But I want to stay."

"We'll be here when you're done," Katie replied, confused.

But Sam shook his head. His mouth hung open, trying to find the words. "...I don't know if I can come back."

The phone rang again, even louder. The sound startled him and he again faced the door. Whipping back around, Katie and his nephews were suddenly gone.

"Katie?"

Another ring. It sounded like a funeral toll.

He was waiting.

With a dead man's pace, Sam reached a shaking hand out and turned the knob, throwing the door open but staying on his side of the threshold. The lights were all out. There was no sign of life. A chill cut through the air.

Like snow.

Yet another ring. The phone loomed ominously in the corner.

_Don't answer. Don't go back._

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He had to. Summoning all of his courage, he crossed the room and slowly, timidly, picked it up from the receiver. With a tremble in his voice, he tried and failed to speak confidently, "...Al?"

_"We're waiting, Samuel."_

The inhuman voice on the other end sent shivers through his whole body. An indescribable terror overtook him, nearly freezing him in place if not for the stickiness in his hand. With confusion, he looked at the phone and found it dripping with red. It dropped to the floor as he screamed.

"Silly boy. Don't you know you never left?"

A sharp gasp. Sam spun around to find the Director behind him, his eyes completely crimson. He lifted his hammer and swung.

_Please stop. Stop. You don't have to do this!_

_You created us, Doctor Beckett._

_He doesn't like it when you put right what he made wrong._

_You and I are going to be friends for a very long time._

_Rushing water, snow, glass, hammer, wire, scalpel, needle._

_Screaming, screaming, always screaming._

_He was free, or maybe he dreamt he was free. Al was there. It was cold. He entered the white void and everything turned black._

_He heard voices around him. Felt hands. Needles, more needles. More hands. They were taking him back. He wanted to scream but he couldn't. No. Not again!_

_The hands reached for him once more and..._

A light, a small light. Pain. Slowly the light began to blurrily grow. The pain became so much he couldn't stand it, but the light pulled him back into the world. Half of his vision was black, but just barely, he was able to make out his surroundings.

The sterile room, the tools, a figure in a white coat, just leaving. He was right back where he was before.

Panic threatened to overtake him and he began to hyperventilate, causing his chest to burn in agony. The sound of glass breaking over his own raw voice echoed in his head. They'd found him. They'd found him! He closed his eyes tightly, and that only made things worse when his blinded eye sent pain shooting into his skull. He bit back a groan, too terrified of being discovered awake and ready to be tortured again.

Their escape had failed. Hedrick would be back to finish what he started and they would be angry, so angry. And where was Al? God, they had him. He was his only hope and they had him. Al! He would weep if he could breathe. They couldn't do this to him, not after everything he'd been through. Did they have him on that table? Was he begging for mercy? Scalpels slicing into--

Sam couldn't stay. Wouldn't. Al needed him. He had to get out. Crawl out. Dig out.

Slowly, unsteadily, a bandaged hand wobbled over the railing. Whatever strength Sam had left--and it was next to nothing at this point--he concentrated it into pulling himself over. His muscles cried out and caught fire.

Gravity did the rest of the work for him. Suddenly his pain was magnified tenfold, a blinding impact, and he couldn't hold back his yell. He howled in pain and arched his back, barely able to move more than that. Vaguely he was aware that there was something wet and sticky under him, but the throbbing was so bad he could barely see.

His arm stretched out and clawed at the floor, desperately trying to find some purchase. But it was a pointless effort. The pain overwhelmed him and his world went dark again.

The blood slowly pooled around him.

\-------

"Dad. Dad! Wake up!"

A snort. A startled Al was brought out of an uneasy slumber by an anxious Jill, her hair half-up and clothes hastily put on. He tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Jill, wha--what time is it...?"

"The hospital called. They said there's been some kind of accident."

Instantly, Al was sitting up. "What kind of accident?"

Before he could go looking for them, Jill was handing him some clothes. She shoved his glasses into his hands. "I-I-I don't know exactly. Sam's awake."

"He's awake?" That might as well have been all Al heard. Hopping out of bed, he was immediately throwing on clothes. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know. Hattie's with Father Kolby. We need to go."

Al wasn't going to argue. One of the skills he picked up in the Navy was to get dressed quickly, and today he beat his own record.

\-------

They weren't the only ones having an uneasy night, and Dr. Lysanne probably didn't need the added stress of two anxiety-prone relatives. He raised his palms to calm them. "He managed to tear his stitches open, but luckily we found him quickly."

"What kind of hospital is this?" Al demanded furiously, "You were just gonna let him kill himself?!" God, he never should've left him! He spun around and pressed his fist against his chin.

Jill was shaking, but this time she was more levelheaded than Al. "The important thing is that he's awake now," she reasoned. She bit her nails and looked to the doctor for confirmation. "Right?"

"We're still not out of the woods," Lysanne cautioned, "but yes, this is a good sign."

"Can we see him?"

"Yes...but I do need to warn you. He lost a lot of blood after his fall, so we're keeping him restrained so he doesn't hurt himself, at least until he's more lucid. He's very heavily medicated, so he might not know who you are. He doesn't seem to recognize his surroundings yet."

"Oh lord..." Jill was beside herself. She pulled her hands across her face.

"But that's to be expected." Lysanne explained, "He's suffered a massive shock. He should start to come around as his condition improves." He thought on it for a moment. "He does seem determined to see someone named Al. Is that anyone you know?"

At the mention of his name, Al lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ooh! That's me! I'm Al!" he jumped in, a little too eager. Off the other's baffled looks, he tried to think of a good cover. "I mean, uh, it's a--it's a little joke me and Sam have. He calls me Al." He smiled nervously. Just keep moving forward; they'd buy it. "Can I--Can I see him alone? Maybe I can calm him down since he seems to remember me."

Jill badly wanted to see her son, but she was determined to do this right. Arms folded across her chest, she admitted, "He _was_ always closer with you. It might help." She looked to Lysanne for his opinion.

"It could, but he still might not recognize you."

"That's okay," Al chuckled, "Sometimes it takes me a bit to recognize myself."

\-------

Al practically ran to Sam's door; this earned him a few disapproving looks, but he didn't care. He just wanted to see him, to hear him speak again. To know he was really alive. To let Sam know he was here, even if he was completely out of it. Why had he left him to wake up alone? Sam needed him now more than ever.

But he didn't want to scare him. Shaking his arms out, he steadied himself and cautiously reached for the knob. Wait! Sam might not recognize him with glasses. He quickly took them off and then slowly opened the door.

He thought seeing Sam awake would make him feel better, but his stomach twisted into a whole new shape. His eye was immediately drawn to the wrist restraints. He knew it was to protect him from another fall, but he couldn't help but flash back to that awful place, to what Sam must have gone through. Sam had no strength in him and yet he was pulling at the restraints like a zombie, staring at the ceiling.

"Sam?" He didn't hear him. He rushed over to stop him from hurting himself any further. "Hey, Sam, I'm here."

As soon as Al gently placed his hands on him, Sam let out a ragged gasp and stiffened up painfully. Whimpering and ineffectively trying to pull away, his drug-addled eye gradually rolled across the room and landed on him.

"Sam...it's me."

Sam stopped. It took him a few moments to register who he was looking at. Lips parting slowly, he managed to groggily croak his name. "Al..."

He sounded awful, but it was his voice. Al had been so petrified he wouldn't hear it again. A wave of relief crashed against the pessimistic side of him that told him Sam was still in really bad shape.

But he wouldn't let Sam see that side. He might not be able to do much right now, but he was very good at hiding himself. Putting on a brave smile, he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Heya, Sammy. Welcome back to the land on the living."

Sam swallowed and coughed. "You came...back..."

"Of course I did," Al responded obviously, "You didn't think I was gonna leave you here, did you? Not with whatever they're serving from the kitchen. You've suffered enough." He laughed flippantly. "Although, Sam, I gotta tell ya, you aren't making it easy on them here. I know the nurse is sexy, but doing a cartwheel outta bed is no way to get attention."

It wasn't entirely clear Sam understood the joke. Knitting his brows, he stared and blinked slowly.

"Too fast?" Al awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Heh, that's okay. You're gonna laugh about that later."

"Gotta...hurry..."

"Hurry?"

"Before...he comes back..." Sam was staring at the door.

"Before who comes back?" Turning around and quickly taking a few paces, Al peered out the door curiously. When a white coat caught his eye, the sudden realization made his stomach drop.

He was waiting for the doctor to come back and finish what he started. He didn't have any reason to believe any different.

Al pulled his hand over his mouth, too upset to turn around. After a moment, he craned his head back piteously. "You didn't know we leaped...did you?"

Again, Sam twitched his eyebrows.

"Sam, it's 1973 and you're in a hospital in Burnside, Lousiana," Al told him encouragingly as he returned to his side, "That place, we--we left it crumbled to dust." He waved his hands in front of him with finality, acid in his voice. Good riddance. "We made it out. You're safe now."

Again, Sam seemed to have difficulty understanding him. He took a moment or three, glassy eye struggling to stay open. "S...Safe...?"

"Yeah, Sam. You're safe."

"Safe...sssssafe...ssss... "

"Sam?"

Sam had drifted off, his troubled expression remaining. Upon realizing his friend was out again, Al hung his head as he was suddenly very exhausted himself. Oh, Sam.

_Clunk-shoom._

"Admiral, I think I finally have some helpful information."

Al simply stayed where he was, head hung low.

Gooshie frowned, stepping closer and waving his hand in front of him. "Admiral? Hello?" He began to fidget with the handlink. "Are we getting a good sig--?"

"Is Sam gonna die?"

"What?"

Finally Al turned around, his sorrowful eyes betraying him. He was this close to losing it. "Just be straight with me, Gooshie. Is Sam gonna die?"

For a moment, the programmer wasn't able to find the proper response. He could see how much this was affecting Al; the Project felt it too. Realizing Al was giving him a look, he jumped and lifted up the handlink. "I-I don't know for sure, um, he's not part of the original history..." But when he read the information, he lit up with hope. "But according to Ziggy, there's a 78.3% chance he's going to pull through."

It was as if Al was hit by a literal wave. He fell down into the chair and pulled his hands down over his face. "God..." he half-laughed, "78%..." It wasn't 100, but he'd take it. He peered over his fingers. "Let's hope our old girl is right for once."

A shriek of protest from the handlink. Gooshie stroked the rainbow block placatingly. "I know. You're not old, Ziggy."

Al didn't even care about Ziggy's spotty record. If she said Sam was going to make it, he believed her. Besides, if he believed anything else he'd make himself go crazy. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his face. "In the original timeline, did the kid he leaped into even have the same accident?"

"He did. But...obviously his injuries were less severe. Just a broken arm and some scrapes." Gooshie scratched at his mustache, hesitant about revealing the next part given Al's state of mind. But this was his job, after all, so he had to suck it up. "B-But the accident didn't really matter in the long run, I suppose. A week from now...he and his family die when their home is destroyed in a mudslide."

When it rains, it pours. Oh, for a better metaphor.

Al squinted one eye with annoyance. "I remember leaping used to be more fun." Taking in the information, he paced toward the window and peered outside. There wasn't a cloud in sight, and certainly nothing to indicate what tragedy was coming. He scratched at his stubble and tried to focus on what he was here to do. "Does anybody else die?"

Gooshie consulted the handlink. "Unfortunately yes, there was one other casualty. Only two homes were hit by the mudslide, the Rich's and their neighbor's..." He squinted at the screen. "...Father Gabriel Kolby."

"Okay, so...that makes things simple," Al reasoned with a shrug, "All I gotta do is make sure no one is home when things go sideways. I get them and Father Whatsit someplace else and let nature take its course. Piece of cake." Gooshie nodded. At least something about this leap was easy. Al sighed, looking back at Sam in conflicted thought. "...I think he's gonna be out for awhile again."

"It seems likely."

A glance at the door. "They're gonna be expecting me back out there, and this Kolby guy isn't gonna watch Hattie all day. And I haven't had a shower since...god, since before last leap at least." Al squirmed a bit, feeling very yucky at the moment. He'd been so dead tired that he hadn't even thought about it, but he still had gunk left on him from digging through the rubble.

But once he washed it off, he felt like he'd always have slime on him.

He couldn't stay here. Part of him wished Gooshie would argue with him, but of course he didn't. Wouldn't say anything even if he thought less of him. The coward.

With immense regret, Al started for the door. But before he left, he had an apprehensive request for Gooshie. "Can you, uh...can you stay with him?"

Gooshie's eyes bugged slightly, trepidatious. "With Dr. Beckett?"

"Yeah. I know you can't do much for him, but I don't want him waking up with a bunch of strangers again." Al could see Gooshie was uncomfortable. He never did well around sick people. Raising his eyebrows earnestly, Al asked for confirmation, "Okay?"

He wasn't comfortable, but Gooshie still agreed. "I'll be here."

"Thanks, Gooshie. Let me know if anything happens."


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't terribly surprising, but Jill had opted to stay at the hospital. So while she was waiting with Sam, Al headed back to the farm to pick up Hattie from Father Kolby. And...to do whatever it is Marcus Lambert did when he wasn't rushing his grandkids to the hospital.

As soon as Al got a look at the collar, he involuntarily shivered. Priests always made him uncomfortable. His bad relationship with the church had started early; he didn't much care for the nuns at the orphanage smacking him with rulers. But then again, even he had to admit that a lot of the time he'd done something to deserve it.

Father Kolby was tall, unassuming, balding--and probably very boring. He smiled pleasantly when Al approached. "Hello again, Marcus."

"Hi. Thanks for watching Hattie."

"Of course. And how is Sam doing?"

"He's..." Al looked toward Hattie. "...he's doing better." It was close enough to the truth.

Hattie lit up with hope. "Can I go see him?"

"Uh, maybe later."

"Oh, praise the lord," Kolby sighed happily, eyes upward, "I prayed for his recovery, and it seems our savior was listening. You've got a miracle on your hands, Marcus."

Al couldn't help it. The words rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Reminded him of his father. Careful not to upset Hattie, he questioned through his teeth, "Oh yeah? And was it a miracle this happened to him in the first place, or was God looking the other way that time?"

Kolby could see he'd obviously been rankled, so he became more serious. "I apologize. I know this must be a very difficult time." He lightly touched Al's shoulder. "It may not make sense to you now, but God always has a plan." He had a plan, alright. And it involved Father Kolby buried under a house. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Al tried not to pull away, but boy did he want to. Luckily Kolby quickly let him go. Al addressed Hattie, "C'mon, kiddo."

"Bye, Father Kolby."

As they were walking back, Al felt her hand slip quietly into his. She looked up and gave him a grin only seen in brave children and he squeezed her hand back. No matter what happened, they had each other's backs.

Al had never had kids, and he'd certainly never had grandchildren. Funny but he supposed that was his age bracket now. Would they have been just as courageous and smart as Hattie? He supposed he'd never know now. Or maybe did know and his swiss cheese brain decided to write them out. He wasn't sure which was the best option.

He tried to imagine how Marcus had felt. Two weeks of not knowing and only getting one grandchild back, the devastation of seeing his daughter fall apart. Wondering if there was something he could have done differently to prevent this senseless tragedy. He just got lost and slipped. What was the point?

And now Sam was going through another trauma all over again. For what?

\-------

_"Somebody please help me! HELP!"_

_Sam's cries went unanswered, echoing cruelly off of the crimson walls. He was back on that table, back in that place. It had sounded too good to be true that he had escaped. No, he was still here, still trapped, and the only way out was death. And god... he didn't want to die._

_"It's positively criminal how good he looks when he cries." Zoey hovered in the shadows, leering at his exposed body._

_"He seems to be suffering delusions that he leaped out." Dr. Hedrick. Sam shivered and tightened up. His muscles ached under the strain. "I could write a book on this case."_

_"Please..." Sam begged. Somewhere deep inside, they must still be human. "Let me go...I'll do anything..."_

_"What kind of hosts would we be if we tossed you out?"_

_The voice he'd hoped he'd never hear again. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't look, but he could feel him looming over him, black, soulless._

_"Oh don't be so shy, Samuel. Isn't this what you wanted when you gave birth to us?"_

_"No...no..."_

_"Pay attention when I speak!"_

_Sam's head was yanked back by the hair and he screamed in terror._

In his hospital room, Sam glistened with sweat as he rested fitfully. A soft whimper escaped his lips.

_\-------_

Cleaning up didn't make Al feel much better, but it did help immensely to wash off the sweat and get rid of the five o'clock shadow he'd been sporting. This entire leap so far had been one long, teeth-clenching, muscle-straining migraine he couldn't get rid of, so he'd take this tiny moment of respite as a reset.

A knock on the door and he was back on again. Must not be Jill. He hoped it was someone he wasn't supposed to know.

The man at the door was too thin, tall, with a large Adam's apple and even larger nose. He wore a green suit that was a little too big for his small frame, and a sneer to match his greasy hair. "Hi there, Marcus. Do ya got a minute?"

"Actually, now's not a good time, uh..." He searched for a name he didn't have.

Rather than take a hint, the creep pushed his way inside. "I'm sure you've got time for your old buddy Remo!" Remo surveyed the mantle, sauntering leisurely through the house. "Besides, you wouldn't want to insult Mr. Templeton by turning me away again, would you?" He picked up the family photo.

Trying not to show his annoyance, Al took the picture back. "Listen, _Remo_ , I've had a rough day, so why don't you just get to whatever you're getting at?"

"Okay." Remo folded his hands in front of him, all business now. He sniffed. "20K. That's Mr. Templeton's final offer."

Al didn't have the patience to play detective here. "20K for what?"

Taking Al's response as a defensive joke, Remo rolled his eyes. "It's the best deal you're gonna get for this place! No one wants the buy a dump in the middle of nowhere with some dead kid in its history."

That was it. Setting the photo down sharply, Al narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. "If you leave now, I might forget that you said that."

"Ooh, tough old guy," Remo taunted with his hands raised mockingly. His taunt turned into a threat. "If you know what's good for you, you'll take the deal. Templeton is being awfully patient with you. He's not gonna wait another five years."

"You don't get out now, it's gonna take you that long to crawl back to him."

Marcus most likely didn't exude a very intimidating aura, but it seemed Remo was expecting less of a fight. Carefully straightening his lapels, he casually made his way back toward the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you." And he was gone.

What a nozzle. And whoever this Templeton guy was, he sounded like double the nozzle. What the hell did he want this place so badly for? Little did he know, the farm he was so intent on buying was about to be worthless in a few days. Actually...knowing what he knew, Al wondered if the better option would've been taking the deal. At least then the Rich's would be getting some money...even if twenty thousand dollars was a major ripoff in 1973.

Now if only he could install some mudslide-proofing.

\-------

_Help me! Please!_

_Sam's captors laughed._

_Clink, plop, ping, screeeech! Clink, plop, ping, plop, clink..._

Familiar noises. Safe. He knew these. The sound became louder as Sam's throbbing head pulled him closer to consciousness. What was he hearing? It was a bird--no, not a bird, a machine...

A Ziggy.

Al.

A woozy Sam opened his eye, searching desperately for the colorful hologram. Where was he? He said they were safe. He said he was here. Sam wouldn't believe he was awake unless Al proved it.

He moaned as awareness brought with it a drug-numbed ache through his whole body. This attracted the attention not of his companion, but a modelesque blonde nurse.

She leaned in with a wide smile. "Hello, Sam. Welcome back." She was too close. He didn't like it. "It's Jayne. Remember?"

A nervous programmer with a mustache popped up over her shoulder. "Ah, Dr. Beckett! Good morning! Er--afternoon, that is..."

"Is he...?" Jill had just re-entered the room, her mouth agape. Once she saw her son awake, she rushed toward him and practically collapsed next to the bed. Overwhelmed with happiness, she put his face affectionately in her hands. "Oh! My baby!"

If Sam could sink into the bed and through the floor, he would. Who were these people? What did they want? Why were they so close? His muscles tensed under this woman's touch and that only made his aches worse. He tried to slink further away, but a sharp pain in his chest stopped him. He winced.

"Dr. Beckett? It's me, Gooshie."

Gooshie. He knew Gooshie.

"Honey?"

"Where's Al...?"

It took Jill a moment to remember her son's "private joke." "Your grandpa's at home with Hattie."

Gooshie stepped closer into Sam's line of sight, keeping a pleasant demeanor in contrast to the fretting women. He talked over Jill. "Oh, he's out at the moment, but I'm sure he'll be back soon. How're you doing?"

Sam furrowed his brows, confused. Why was it so dark in here? "Can't...see..."

The women were saying something, but he tried to focus just on Gooshie. He was a little less cheery now. "Well, your eye was fractured when..."

"...had a little fall..."

"...Mrs. Rich, he might still be groggy from the..."

"...don't worry, Dr. Beckett, we're..."

The overlapping conversations were too much at once. Sam closed his eyes, hoping to shut them out. He wanted to cover his ears, but something kept his arms stuck in place.

"Sam. It's Mom."

Something clicked. Sam opened his eye and stared at the mousy-haired woman with the high voice. "Mom...?"

She practically sobbed with happiness, nodding her head. "Yes, Sam. It's Mom. And I love you so much." She gently, carefully, leaned in and kissed his forehead.

Not _his_ mother, but someone's mother. A Sam. A Sam that knew how to process love. But not him. Not now.

As her soft lips brushed against him, Sam could only sit in perplexed silence.

\-------

Meanwhile, if Al didn't get any news soon, he was going to go ballistic. Hattie was fast asleep and until Jill came back and traded off with him, he was stuck here. Well, if he couldn't do what he wanted to do, he was going dig into whoever the hell this Templeton guy was. It was better than going nuts thinking about Sam.

If he had a pain in the ass hybrid supercomputer to look this kind of stuff up that would be great, but right now he didn't even have the internet. Some days he felt like a caveman trying to create fire. It used to be so much easier. However, he did find stacks of old newspapers in one of the bedrooms with some helpful information. The moon shone through the window in the late night sky as he sifted through them on the floor.

Weird that they kept these. They seemed to peter off after the last few years. Maybe it was Harold's odd hobby? Some of the items left on the shelves--an old football trophy, a pinup calendar--would indicate this was once a place he spent a lot of time in.

Mm. Miss December. Al might've had that one. Even a swiss-cheese brain would never let him forget her.

A handful of articles leaped out at him, pun not intended. Jerry Templeton was a land developer with money to blow, which made the twenty thousand dollar offer even more insulting. He'd renovated a few high profile buildings in town and funded some local events. He seemed well-known, but not necessarily popular. One or two legal issues seemed to crop up, but never enough for anything to stick.

Al picked up another paper and felt his gut twist.

LOCAL BOY FOUND DEAD IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

There was another picture of Virgil and Sam, arms around each other and smiling wide.

What the hell was he doing in this house? He hadn't really needed to come back, not when Sam's fate was still uncertain. And yet he'd jumped at the first opportunity to bail. He was tired of the smell of sick people, of white walls, of thoughts of that kid with long hair and a bandaged arm. Of seeing Sam and not being able to _do_ a damn thing to help him.

He was selfish. He didn't want to watch Sam die.

Someone cleared their throat and he jumped, spinning around. The holographic programmer looked positively delighted.

"Jeez, Goosh, when did you pop in?" Al breathed, massaging his chest.

"I've got great news. Want to hear it?"

"I'd love to right about now."

Gooshie was positively beaming. "They've changed his status. He's no longer considered in critical condition."

It took a moment to really hit. As soon as it did, Al's jaw dropped into a stupid grin. He stumbled closer to his Observer. "Does that mean that Sam...?"

"Yep." Gooshie nodded definitively, "Ziggy was right. I think it's safe to say...he's going to be okay."

Erupting into relieved laughter, Al leaned against the wall and practically collapsed. "I knew it! I knew those crazy sonsabitches wouldn't get Sam! Gooshie, you're wonderful!"

Was he blushing? "Well thank you, Admiral, but I didn't do anything. I'm just the messenger."

"How's he doing now?"

"He's still a little zoned out, but he seems to be coming around. In fact, Ziggy predicts he could be discharged within the next couple of days."

"That soon?" Another sigh of relief. Al hadn't expected things to make such a quick turnaround, but he'd take luck wherever he could get it. He wanted to rush out and see him now, but then he remembered he was stuck here for the time being. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and realized that actually, he was pretty beat. "Look, if he's still awake, tell him I'll be there first thing tomorrow." Nodding, Gooshie lifted the handlink to pop out. "Wait! Before you go, there's something else. Something leap related."

"Yes?"

Al scratched at his cheek, crossing back over to the newspaper stacks. "Alright, call it leaper's intuition or whatever the hell, but I just...have this gut feeling about this guy named Jerry Templeton." Picking up one of the papers, he flashed an article at Gooshie. "He's been trying to buy this farm for years, but obviously they aren't selling. One of his henchmen paid me a visit today and started making threats. I think this leap has something to do with it."

"Are you sure?" Gooshie decided to double check with Ziggy. Sure, the Project was a little hectic at the moment, but he was certain he'd at least gotten the reason for the leap right. "Ziggy has it at 84.46% that you're here to save the Rich family from dying."

Al lowered his eyelids. How long had Gooshie been working at this project? And yet everything was a surprise to him. "We can have a secondary objective, Goosh. Besides, why would we be leaped in a week before it even happens? Why not just before the house turns into a pancake?"

"Fair enough...but if Mr. Templeton wants to buy the place and it's going to be destroyed soon, isn't this a moot point?"

"I know. I just...have a feeling there's something more to this." Al set the paper down and shrugged. He was sounding like Sam. "So assuming there are no more lightning strikes, evil twins, or explosive surprises I should know about, do you mind finding out what you can about him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And...thanks for watchin' Sam."

\-------

_Sam just wanted to leave, but he didn't know how. He couldn't avoid the inevitable return to his thoughts, his guilt, his memories. His body went numb as the snow piled up around him and began to turn red..._

"Good morning." Head craned back, Jayne gave a big smile and crossed over to her cart.

"Ohhhh..." Sam squinted in the light of the freshly opened curtains, turning away from a new headache and coughing painfully. He frowned as he looked at his surroundings. "Where'm I...?"

"We moved you to a new room."

"Oh..." Sam blinked, slowly waking up. "Guess I was pretty out of it..."

"You sound better," Jayne said with encouragement. There was a marked improvement in his awareness already. "Do you know who I am now?"

A beat. Sam turned to face her and seemed to dig back into his memories. "Jayne..."

Another brilliant smile. "That's right. It's Jayne. At this rate, you'll be out of here in no time." She began to organize her cart. "How're you feeling?"

"Kind of nauseous..."

She looked at him sympathetically. "Do you need to throw up?" He shook his head. "Alright. If you do, there's a pan next to the bed."

"Okay."

"In the meantime..." Picking up a hypodermic needle, she walked back over to him. "This should help."

As soon as the needle was in Sam's sight, he gasped and pulled away in a panic. It was a bigger reaction than she'd expected. For some reason, when he looked at her it was like he was seeing someone else. The white of his eye stood out in sharp contrast to the blackened bruises around it.

"It's just medicine, Sam."

Sam was clearly upset, but she could see he was trying to calm himself. His gaze darted back and forth, as if he was being watched. He tried to explain, meekly, "I don't...like needles."

Jayne pursed her lips. "I'll be quick. I promise." After a long moment, Sam nodded consent. As she lowered the needle, he turned his head away. "There. All done."

Sam started to respond, but he began to cough again. Each hack jabbed painfully against his broken ribs.

Jayne walked to the other side and poured a glass of water. "I'm gonna lift the bed, okay?" Receiving another confirming nod, she cranked him into an upright position and he groaned. She held the glass for him and he carefully drank.

Poor kid. He must feel helpless. But that's what she was here for, after all. To help him. To help...her.

She set the glass down and paused. "Sam...I'm sorry about what's happened. You've been through a lot."

Strange, but he seemed surprised by her words. After a moment, he nodded shyly. "Yeah, um...I-I guess so."

Jayne shifted her eyes away. "I should've said this a long time ago, but I'm sorry about your brother."

Sam scrunched up his face, staring at the wall. "Tom..."

"Who?"

As if realizing she was still in the room, Sam switched out of his daydream and attempted to fudge "Tom" into another word. "I mean... _aw-m_ sorry too."

A beat. Jayne met his gaze, checked the door, and then sat down on the bed next to him. "Sam, if you ever need to talk...I mean, about _anything_ , I'm here."

Sam stared at her for a long time and she stared back. He looked much older than 13 to her, much more life-worn and weary. Like someone who had lived several lives. The corner of his mouth twitched up joylessly. "Okay."

"I mean it. Even if you're in trouble...I'll be here." After a moment, she stood up and returned to her cart. Back to him, she closed her eyes and felt a bit embarrassed, like an intruder. He had friends and family. She was just someone from town.

"Do you say that...to all of your patients?" he asked curiously.

She brightened a bit, turning back and smirking. "Only the ones who fall out of trees." She wanted to speak to him further, but she did still have a shift to get to. She began to pack up her cart. "I have to go now, but I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Jayne." She stopped. "Do you have a mirror?"

She hadn't really expected that one so soon. Temporarily thrown, she paused for a moment before reaching into the cart and pulling out a hand mirror. But she stopped before giving it over. "Before you see yourself, Sam, you should know you're still recovering. It won't always look this severe."

Sam's gashed mouth tightened. "I understand."

Cautiously, she turned the mirror around and faced it toward him.

The lines in Sam's face deepened and he slowly reached out, taking the mirror in his unwieldy hands. It wasn't uncommon for patients with facial injuries to take a long time to absorb the extent of the damage, but something about Sam's reaction was different. Odd. She couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but one thing remained the same as the others: they all seemed to be looking at a stranger.

\-------

Nothing made any sense anymore.

From what Sam dimly recalled, this was another leap, but then why did he feel so awful? Why was this happening to him? Al said he was safe, but that didn't seem true at all. He didn't know this place or these people, and with every leap there came a new danger. Every noise startled him and he wondered if it was all some sort of trick.

But the mirror told him otherwise. He kept thinking back to that little boy's face, covered in cuts and bruises and bandages.

An axe in his neck.

No. Not him. He stifled the thought.

But it wasn't the reflection's wounds, were they? They were Sam's. The face underneath bore the same wounds, caused them. Sam didn't think of himself as vain, but he must look very ugly.

He just wanted to sleep. Maybe he'd wake up in another time and start over.

A knock on the door made him jump and a familiar face peered inside. "You taking visitors?"

For the first time, Sam's heart beat a little easier. "Al."

"Heya, Sam." Al seemed nervous, though he wasn't sure why. He shuffled inside with his hands behind his back. "I, uh, wasn't sure what to get you. So...here." He pulled out a blanket and set it awkwardly on the bed. "I always get itchy using those stupid hospital blankets, so...y'know." Sam said nothing, so Al carried on. "Used to drive me crazy, heh. I dunno what they make them with, Brillo pads or...somethin'." A pause. "Anyway, you don't have to use it. Just a suggestion." Bobbing his head, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for Sam's reaction.

Studying the blanket carefully, Sam ran his fingertips over it while his mind was elsewhere. When he looked back up, he was very serious. "It took you long enough to get back."

At first Al seemed genuinely stung, but then he realized that Sam was actually having a joke. An honest to God joke! A grin slowly crept up his face. "Yeah, yeah, well you left me waiting for seven years."

Maybe he was imagining things, but Al could've sworn Sam was smiling too. But as quickly as it happened, the smile disappeared and Sam looked away again.

As happy as Al was that Sam was on the mend, he didn't think he looked much better. He didn't appear the young, athletic, eternal boy scout he knew. He looked weak, and lined beyond his age...and just so sad. "I was really worried about you, Sam. You were in pretty rough shape."

Sam thought on their unusual circumstances. He'd been wondering about that. "...why?"

That was the question of the hour, wasn't it? "I dunno. I guess we went straight from the last leap to here, so you didn't have time to..." Al decided not to finish and shrugged. "And before you say anything, it doesn't make any sense to me either. Gooshie's working on it." He rooted in his pockets for nothing in particular, scanning the walls and getting creeped out. He didn't want to be here any more than Sam did. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "They're pretty confident you'll make a full recovery...'cept your eye, they're not really sure about that one yet."

"The doctor told me," Sam replied impassively. He was detaching himself, almost clinical. It wasn't his eye, it was someone else's, and they'd just have to wait before worrying about what came next.

Oh for better conversation. Al wished he had some jokes, but at the end of the day, the situation wasn't that funny. Memorizing the floor for a bit, he exhaled heavily and leaned into his hand. "I'm...I'm not sure where to begin, Sam. A lot's happened over the last couple leaps."

"Yeah..." Sam replied, not all that invested. He turned his head toward the wall, half-present.

"The good news is, we won't have to worry about the evil project anymore."

"I know. You told me."

"You remember that, huh?"

"A little bit."

"Oh." Well that certainly saved some time. And now that Al had broached the topic, that opened the door to tell some stories. Yes, this was what he could do. Make him feel included; entertain him. Distract him from the broken bones and bruises. This would be good for him. Besides, he'd missed talking to his best friend. "You'll never believe what happened after the place went kablooey," he said excitedly, "Sam--the other Sam, I mean--he--"

"Al."

Al stopped, hands frozen mid-story. "Yeah?"

"I'm really tired." Sam turned to face him again. "Can you tell me some other time?"

"Oh." Al lowered his hands. "Oh, sure." Wrong call. Sam was still groggy. He shouldn't overwhelm him with too much. "Well, uh...you should at least know some stuff about the leap. I won't bog you down with the details right now, but if anyone asks, you're a 13-year-old kid named Sam Rich." He snorted. "Funny, huh? You've leaped into more Sams than I've ever met."

He could hear a pin drop. Sam wasn't in a laughing mood.

Al cleared his throat. "Anyway, your mother is Jill and you've got an 11-year-old sister named Hattie. And to everyone else, I'm your grandfather, Marcus."

"Okay."

Al bobbed his head, waiting for Sam to show some sort of interest. It wasn't usual for him to be so checked out. But then again, he was bound to be a little loopy still. Taking this as a hint, Al backed up toward the door. "Alright, uh, I'll let you get some shuteye. I just thought I'd--"

"No!" Now Sam was very awake. He started to sit up further, but his injuries stopped him.

Al was frozen in surprise.

Slightly embarrassed, Sam settled back down. "I don't...want you to leave."

Al hadn't realized until now just how afraid Sam still was. This wasn't a request, it was a plea. He didn't want to be alone.

Without hesitation, Al grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to him. "Of course. I'll stay here as long as you need."

His friend's eye shifted nervously and he nodded. "Good...good." He clenched and unclenched his fist around the blanket absentmindedly as he stared out the window.

Al's stomach coiled up with heartbreak. Sam was very, very not okay.

"Al...when can I leave?"

"Sometime soon, I think," Al answered optimistically, "Maybe even tomorrow." Again Sam nodded, biting his lip. "Sam...if you want to rest, you can. I'll be right here."

It was a permission Sam had been waiting for. A sleep with some peace of mind.

"Here." Standing up, Al unfolded the blanket he'd given Sam and draped it over him. Without looking, Sam pulled the blanket closer and curled his fists beside his head.

A long wait. Sam must have drifted off. Al sank into his chair and wondered just what the hell he was going to do.

"Hey, Al...?" Sam asked sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"I like your glasses..."

Al snorted and leaned onto his hand. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Al! Help me!"_

_Sam was running through the jungle, chased by shadows and stumbling over the sticks and leaves. This was no problem for Al. He was a hologram, after all._

_"Don't worry, Sam. I'm gonna get you outta this, easy peasy." As he walked through trees, he waved away his friend's concern._

_"I wish you'd hurry! They're catching up!"_

_Al popped in ahead of him. "Okay, okay, relax. I've got you." Time to check with Ziggy. She'd have the solution. Raising up the handlink, he pressed a few buttons with confidence and waited for the screen to load._

_It was blank._

_"Uh..."_

_"Al!" Sam was wide-eyed, wary of the jungle getting louder as his hunters closed in._

_"Er--Just a second! Stupid thing..." Al was beginning to sweat. He had to tell him something. Shaking the handlink produced no results, so he smacked it hard._

_The whole thing crumbled in his hands._

_Oh no! Al began to panic as he realized his safety net was gone. What would he tell Sam now? He was going to die unless he came up with something quick, but Al's mind too was blank._

_"What do I do?!"_

_"Uh...I--I don't, um..."_

_"AAAAAAAAAL!"_

_Evil hands reached out of the shadows and cut Sam down by the legs, dragging him into the mud. Screaming, he reached out for his one chance at salvation._

_Desperately reaching back, Al's hand phased right through him. "SAM!"_

\-------

Al woke up with a start. Where was Sam? Was he okay?! 

His eyes fell on his friend in the hospital bed and he remembered where he was. Sam was...he was alive anyway. No jungle. No men. Just an injured quantum physicist and a neurotic former hologram. 

Al sighed with relief and hung his head, but winced when he pulled his neck wrong. He hated sleeping in chairs. 

"Admiral."

Boy, it really didn't help his neck when he jerked at the sound of Gooshie's voice. "Ahhh--hey, Gooshie," he whispered, trying to be mindful of the still-sleeping Sam. 

"Sorry to wake you," Gooshie whispered back, though there was no reason to, "But Ziggy managed to come up with some of the information you requested."

"About this Templeton yutz?" 

"Correct. And you weren't wrong to be suspicious of him."

"No kidding."

Gooshie read off the information dutifully, scratching at his mustache. "Mr. Templeton has a reputation for...intimidating people that are a hard sell. And apparently he has a history with the Rich family."

"Well yeah, he tried to buy their place."

"Actually, it's a little more complicated than that." Gooshie raised the handlink. "See, in 1967, Jerry Templeton was planning on building a gator farm as a tourist attraction. It was a  _major_ deal. He had everything all set...until it came into question who legally owned the land. After a year of tricky legal battles, the court ruled in favor of the other party...the Rich family. Templeton was forced to cancel the project. He reportedly lost over $100,000, not including legal fees."

Al screwed up his mouth. "All of this over a gator farm?" He shuddered. "I'll never understand why people would want to pay to see those things;  I wouldn't touch Tina's crocodile with a ten-foot pole."

"I wouldn't either," Gooshie agreed, thinking back on a terrible memory, "Though Tina's tried..."

"Huh?"

"Huh?"

Sometimes it was best just to let Gooshie be Gooshie and not ask questions. Al shook his head. "I bet it really stung Templeton to find someone who couldn't be bought," he mused acidly, "Slime like that guy feel like they're entitled to whatever they want just because they're loaded."

"He's not loaded for long. In 1978, he's sent to prison for not paying his taxes for ten years."

Why wasn't this surprising? "Sounds like a real genius," Al replied sarcastically. But it seemed his leaper's intuition was right on the money. Something other than mother nature was at play. "What do you think the odds are of Templeton's franken-goon taking his 'intimidation' a little too far?"

"Do you really think that's part of why you leaped in?"

"I think if we were meant to just save them from a mudslide, we woulda leaped in just before the mudslide." 

"Fair enough," Gooshie conceded, "We'll see if there's anything else. And..." He craned his neck back toward Sam. "...we're still working on why there was no wait time between leaps. How is Dr. Beckett?"

Exhaling heavily, Al sunk into his chair and dug his nails into the armrest, shaking his head. "I think maybe this place reminds...him too much of where he was. The sooner he gets outta here, the better."

This hospital wasn't good for his health. 

"I agree." Both Al and hologram turned with surprise as Jayne quietly entered the room. "He'll probably do better once he gets home."

Home. Whenever that'll happen. 

Al glanced at Gooshie, rubbing the back of his neck as he rose stiffly from his seat. "I was, uh, talkin' to myself."

The Imaging Chamber filled the room with a light everyone but the nurse could see. "I'll just, er, get out of the way." And he was gone. Lucky him. 

"It's okay," Jayne answered politely, crossing over to check on Sam, "A lot of people do around here. Helps them handle stress." She looked toward Al, who was now rubbing his sore back. "I'm due for a break soon. Join me for a cup of coffee?"

Al wasn't sure. Sam didn't want him to leave.

"I think he's going to be out for awhile longer," Jayne said coaxingly, "Might help to get out of this room for a bit."

\-------

Al didn't much care for doctors, but he always loved nurses. Hell, he married one. It was one of his many fantasies to get with a drop dead gorgeous  _blonde_ nurse, but given his leapee's age and his general low spirits at the moment, this wasn't exactly the sexy scenario he imagined. But he had to admit, his...shallow first impression had not allowed him to pay much attention to her outside of appearance. Now he could see a very conscientious, bright young girl who seemed eager to help people. With big casabas. 

Another thing Al had learned over the years was that hospital coffee was universally terrible. He sipped on it as they sat in the nearly abandoned hotel cafeteria. "Thanks. I guess I needed that break after all."

Jayne nodded. "You must be very worried, but you have a remarkably strong grandson."

"Yeah." Al got lost in the brim of his coffee cup. "Yeah, he is..."

"He's a survivor."

Yes. He was. Maybe they all were.

Al returned his attention to Jayne. The loaded meaning behind her words was not lost on him. "Something tells me you know a little something about surviving yourself."

"I know what it's like to lose someone." She held her coffee close, mouth tight in thought. "Mr. Lambert...Marcus. This may sound a little strange..."

"You'd be surprised at what I find 'strange,'" Al remarked with an amused grin. If she knew he was really a body-stealing time traveler, she might not think whatever she was going to say was that out there. 

"You remember Bernadette?"

No. "How could I forget?" 

"Well, she was my best friend. And...I feel this connection to your grandson because she disappeared the same day he and Virgil did." Jayne set her coffee down. "Only...she didn't come back."

Al might not be a super genius like Sam, but he knew math. Two disappearances in the same town on the same day equaled something hinky going on. He'd have to ask Gooshie about it to see what the connection might be.

But this nurse made a little more sense now. So  _that's_ why she was so invested in the Rich family, she had Eternal Girl Scout Syndrome. Kind of like someone else he knew. She couldn't save her friend, so she was determined to save the world. 

"I know what people say about her, but it's not true," Jayne said emphatically. Her professionalism had given way to long-suppressed bitterness. "She might have slept with a lot of guys, but she didn't get pregnant and run off. She wouldn't leave without telling me."

"And what's your theory?"

"I think she's dead." The frank admission was refreshingly honest. She shrugged off some of her anger. "But officially, she's still a missing person."

It was a maddening burden and Al knew it. He'd met too many soldiers that never came back and were never accounted for. But then again, he was one of them once, and he'd wished one or two more people hadn't given up on him so quickly. He craned his head sideways. "You never know...maybe she'll show up at your door someday."

"Maybe." A pause. "I'm sorry Virgil didn't."

What was Al supposed to say to that? He decided to be as noncommittal as possible and just focus on his drink. The steam fogged up his glasses and he fumbled to clean them with his shirt. Stupid. He didn't even need them. 

"Did Sam ever...talk to you about it?"

Now Al had to think. He knew next to nothing about this chapter of the Rich family's life, and yet somehow he knew the answer. "No. He didn't."

"He will someday." Jayne reached across the table with a consoling hand. "He will."

\-------

Sam blearily rubbed his eye as as the door cracked open and Al tried to quietly duck inside. "Where were you...?"

"Sorry kid," Al apologized. He raised his coffee cup as explanation. "I thought you were still asleep."

"I was, but I...I dreamt that..." Sam swallowed. "I just thought you'd be here." It was cold. He drew his blanket in closer as Al sat across from him. 

"Well I'm here now."

"Yeah." Sam stared out the window intensely. It was starting to rain. "Al?"

"Sam."

"When are we going to leap out?"

"Why would I want you to leap out? You haven't done what I told you to do yet."

Sam furrowed his brows. "Wha--?" 

The IV tube suddenly wrapped around his neck of its own accord. Unable to scream, Sam struggled and choked with wide-eyed terror. The other man approached, cast in shadow and eyes an evil crimson. He wasn't Al. 

He was the Devil. 

"It was part of my plan, Samuel. From the day you started to the day I finished it." He glided closer with menace, feet never touching the ground. "It was always part of the plan. Now you're mine...forever." 

\-------

Sam woke up in a cold sweat, closed throat unable to make a sound. Gasping, his gaze darted around the room in search of the intruder. He nearly choked when he saw him in the chair. 

_Don't make a sound._

The Devil was asleep. No, not the Devil...it was Al. He'd been dreaming. Sam let out a deep breath, slowly to protect his aching ribs, and closed his eye. 

_Don't tell anyone. If he knew what you've done he'll leave._

\--------

"Sam, would you care to play a game with me?" 

Dr. Verbeena Beeks had to talk to the various leapees for everything from believing they'd just been abducted by a UFO to violently lashing out to being completely catatonic. They all wore the same face to her but each case was different. Sometimes Dr. Beckett was meek and frightened, other times he was angry, sometimes he tried to flirt or bargain. And because he looked the same to her, sometimes she had to rely on guesswork to figure out what she was dealing with. Imagine her surprise the time she found Dr. Beckett walking on his knuckles through the Waiting Room, making grunting noises and peeling a banana. She figured that one out very quickly.

This time, he would barely speak. From what she'd gathered and been told, the leapee was a 13-year-old boy named Sam Rich who had suffered a traumatizing event when his brother died. Leaping here had triggered his memories and left him near mute, so the first step to getting him to open up would be something both a comfort and a distraction. She set out a game of checkers on the Waiting Room table. A chair sat on either side. 

The boy, who had been sitting silently with his hands folded in his lap, only glanced up.

"Okay. We can sit quietly if you like." Mimicking his pose, Dr. Beeks sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. 

An awkward pause. Sam got up and sat in the chair opposite her. 

She waited. The uncomfortable silence was too much. Sam moved a piece. Dr. Beeks moved hers. "You've played this before," she lightly teased. 

The teen joylessly grinned to be polite. He squirmed a bit in his chair. 

"Your move."

He'd stopped playing again. Verbeena sat back quietly. The chair creaked as Sam lifted his knees and hugged them. 

"...where's my mom?"

"Your mother is waiting for you at home," Verbeena calmly explained. She moved another piece. "Unfortunately, she can't see you until we're done running some tests."

Sam frowned. He didn't like tests. 

"You'll go home soon, Sam." 

"...I can't be gone long. Mom will cry." 

Dr. Beeks put her hands back in her lap, sitting up straight. "I understand you don't want her to worry, but she knows you're being taken care of."

"I can't leave. I can't be gone."

"Why do you say that?"

"Bad things happen when you leave."

"What bad things, Sam?"

But he was quiet again. He shook his head and fled to the corner. That was all Verbeena could get out of him. His experience with his brother gave him attachment issues, terrified him to venture out too far. Leaping hadn't helped on that front. If he'd made any progress since losing his brother, he had regressed back to his state when he was at his worst. 

She wasn't going to push; his mind was fragile. But she suspected there was more to this than any of them knew. 

\-------

"Well, Sam, this is the moment of truth..." Dr. Lysanne flipped the mirror around. Then, with an encouraging grin, "...and it looks like your eye is healing quite well. I don't see any reason to remove it, if it's all the same to you."

The bandage had been removed, but all Sam saw was the kid. Not that his eye looked that great anyway. The fracturing around it was bruised and swollen and the broken blood vessels made him look like a demon. 

"Well? How about that?"

Sam didn't look away from the glass. "...great."

"Unless any other complications arise, we should be able to discharge you soon." 

Sam wanted nothing more than to leave this hospital and get away from the coats and needles and constant motion, but...the thought of leaving scared him almost as much. Here was familiar now. Out there, there could be anything. Anyone. 

Out there no one was watching him.

\-------

Sam was coming home. Well, to this home anyway. As far as Al was concerned, anywhere was better than a hospital. 

And Sam  _did_ look better. First of all, he wasn't going to lose his eye, and that was a big, fat win. It was still pretty nasty, but he'd been pretty lucky, all things considered. Everyone had practically cheered. Time for champagne and apple juice for the kiddos. 

But Sam was still...strange. Jumpy, paranoid. For some reason, he'd become more guarded after he'd asked him to stay, but Al couldn't for the life of him figure out what had changed. 

_"Don't worry, Sam, You're gettin' outta this place. Then we're gonna solve this leap and things will go back to normal."_

_Sam remained quiet. Al couldn't understand why he didn't seem happier. He wanted to leap, right?_

He was walking around a bit now, at least with some assistance. Jill had helped him out of the truck and into the house, staggering like a zombie, and went straight to his room. Jill was still overprotective; she'd barely let Al touch him. But then Sam didn't try that hard to change that. 

And once again Al was left twiddling his thumbs. What was the point of this stupid leap again?

Oh right. A stupid mudslide and a stupid gator farm. How this all connected, Al wasn't sure, but he was certain things were more complicated than they appeared because they always were. Maybe Sam would have some insight once he settled in. He just needed time to adjust, that's all. 

\-------

Sam Rich's bedroom was small, but somehow Sam still felt exposed. Wiggling as close to the wall as possible, he made sure at least a couple sides were secure. 

He was being irrational. He knew it, of course. But he couldn't help it. 

The walls were plastered with posters of old cars, and books were scattered messily on the floor with dirty clothes. Even more books were piled on the desk. The boy he leaped into must spend a lot of time here. Sam's attention fell on a photo on the dresser: his reflection and another little boy.

Somehow, he summoned the courage to scoot closer long enough to grab the frame. The movement made his ribs ache, just like any other time he moved or breathed or let himself not think about it. He held the photo up close--clumsy with his wrist cast--and studied the kids through his half-blurred vision. He hadn't seen this other little boy around the house. A friend? But something about him made Sam's chest tight and throat want to close. 

He quickly put the photo back, facing it away. He didn't like it. 

That's when something caught his eye outside the window. At the edge of the forest stood that same little boy. Sam furrowed his brows, wondering what he was doing there and getting that same strange feeling. 

The boy looked up, smiled, and waved. Sam gasped and ducked down, groaning at the quick motion.

He was just a child. As far as the boy knew, that was his friend watching him from the window. Sam told himself there was nothing to be scared of. Very slowly, he peered over the window sill.

The boy was gone. He must have run into the woods. 

A soft knock on the door and his heart was beating like a drum solo again. He saw Jill step inside and sighed with relief. "Did I wake you?"

"No." 

"You should rest soon." She tenderly brushed away the hair from his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? He could never explain. "I'm okay." 

Jill was doing that thing Sam had grown to hate, where he knew she wanted to ask him something but couldn't figure out how to say it. He wished people would just get it over with instead of prolonging both of their suffering. 

She sat at the desk. "Sweetie...what on earth possessed you to climb that tree?"

Oh yeah, that's what they were telling people. Sam shifted a little and shrugged. "I guess it just...seemed like a good idea."

"But I thought you were afraid of trees after...after what happened."

Sam wondered what she meant, but he was too tired to figure it out. He stared out the window again and...he did feel this queasy, terrible feeling when he looked at the trees reaching toward him like monsters. Something leftover from her son. "Not...not this time..."

A pause. "You have to be more careful, Sam. We nearly lost you again."

He'd flatlined, he'd been told. Funny but he didn't remember any visions of white tunnels or heavenly choirs singing. He didn't remember being anywhere. For a brief moment in time, he felt nothing. He supposed it was like Heaven in that way. 

But he didn't deserve it. Not after what he'd done. 

"I'm...I'm sorry." He was. But she couldn't forgive him. 

Warm arms wrapped around him and he was surprised that he didn't shrivel away at her touch this time. "You have nothing to apologize for," she whispered, "You didn't know what would happen." 

Despite himself, tears began to fall silently down Sam's face. Even if she didn't know, it was good to hear. He needed to hear it, despite the fact it wasn't real.

"I love you, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes tightly and held back a sob, reaching out and hugging her back. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was his real mother. 


	5. Chapter 5

The horse Al had leapt in on was a particularly ornery mare named Sugarfoot. Sugarfoot had been raised here and only trusted the people she grew up around, which didn't include Al Calavicci. And yet, as Marcus Lambert, he was now in charge of her...as well as their two chickens, one goat, and a very old cow. As part of Marcus's pledge to pitch in, he took care of the animals while Jill took care of the fruits and vegetables and other green stuff. 

Al narrowly avoided stepping in a pile of manure as he carried in a bucket of food for the equine princess. Yuck! He hated farms. He hated the feel, he hated the smell, and he hated the horseshit. 

Sugarfoot wanted nothing to do with the food of course. He placed it in her stall and she turned her head away. 

"Hey look, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do," Al explained indignantly, "But I don't control where or when I go. Believe me, if I did, I'd be in Caesar's Palace right now doing slots." Sugarfoot sniffed haughtily. "Come on, give me a break, will ya? I've already screwed up enough; I should at least be able to feed a horse."

A short snuffle. Sugarfoot daintily decided to humor him and started to nibble at her food. 

"I think she enjoys teasing you." It was Jill, who had quietly entered the barn. Sugarfoot seemed more at ease with her present and began to munch loudly. "You're the one she likes the most."

"Are you kiddin' me?" asked Al incredulously, "I don't know what horse you're talking about, because this one can't seem to stand me."

"I see when you sneak her extra sugar cubes," Jill remarked knowingly, "You're definitely her favorite." Sugarfoot whinnied and bucked, causing Al to jump back. Jill frowned. "But she does seem to be acting strange lately..."

"Yeah...weird." Al cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. "Jill, do you remember Bernadette, uh...?" He scratched his head, pretending Marcus's memory was failing him at the moment.

"Ward?" Jill provided with surprise, folding her arms. "Sure. I haven't thought about her since her family moved out. She ran off with her boyfriend, didn't she?"

"Maybe. Is that what you think happened?"

"I...I don't know. I haven't given it much thought." Jill looked at him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

Figures. "It's nothing. Just an interesting conversation with the nurse." Jill nodded, not prying further. Her mind was on other matters. Frankly, so was Al's. "How's Sam doin'?"

"He's asleep." Big surprise. "But I don't know how he is. He's so quiet and I..." Jill stopped and swallowed, crossing her arms. She kept her gaze on Sugarfoot lest she start crying again. "Dad, I get so worried it'll be like the last time. You didn't see him when we found him. He was just...so frail. It took him three days to say anything at all, and he never...he never would talk about what happened." She gripped the edge of the stall like she was clinging to life. "I just want to help him, but he won't let me."

It was impossible for Al not to compare. He was damn worried about his friend and he felt useless sitting here feeding horses while he was fighting the demons in his head. And the more he told himself Sam was just recovering physically, the less he believed it. 

"Don't worry. There's  _no way_ Sam will end up like--" He stopped himself. "--like...the last time."

_Like me._

"I hope so." Jill shook her hands out and laughed uncomfortably, trying to escape the cloud of depression that had covered them for so long. "I can't believe Sugarfoot has eaten dinner before we have. Let's go back inside."

"Sure. Oh!" Al's expression lit up, "You know what? I just remembered that it's Dad's turn to cook."

"Oh?" Jill asked, "And just what is Dad serving tonight?"

Al's eyes twinkled the way a true father's would. "It's a surprise."

\-------

"Pancakes!" Hattie squealed with delight and wriggled in her chair at the kitchen island. 

Al must have looked a sight. Adorned in a brightly-patterned apron, he held two platters stacked as high as they could go with pancakes in each kitchen mitted hand. A little dance and he placed the platters before an amused Jill and a very excited Hattie. 

"Dinner...is served." Al gave them a little bow. 

"You mean breakfast," Hattie corrected him as he began to put pancakes on her plate.

"I mean breakfast."

Jill was helping herself, looking impressed. "No offense, Dad, but I didn't know you could even make pancakes."

"You wound me." Al placed his hand over his heart. "I was the two-time champion of St. Jerome's Junior Cook-off!"

"The what?" 

"Hattie, don't talk with your mouth full."

"Sorry, Mom," Hattie responded, mouth full. 

As Al watch Jill and her daughter enjoy their meal, he found this strangely comforting. He hadn't had a family in a very long time, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a family dinner. Probably on a leap. But never with his own. He found everything just...fit. And that was a refreshing feeling for this leap. He hated to think of this perfect family being swept away by a mudslide. 

"Thank you for dinner, Dad. This is wonderful." 

"Of course."

"Sit down and eat."

"Not until I'm done with the eggs and bacon," Al answered, returning to the stove. He raised his spatula wisely. "It's an unspoken rule that you can't have pancakes without eggs and bacon."

"Did you learn that from St. Jerome?" Hattie asked.

Al squinted one eye in thought. "Mm, I think that one was St. Beckett." 

"I don't think St. Beckett knows anything about cooking."

All three of them turned in surprise to see Sam standing tentatively in the kitchen doorway. Al nearly dropped his spatula. "Sam!"

He smiled nervously. "Mind if I join you?"

Jill was immediately by his side to support him. "Sweetie, I don't know if you should be out of bed..."

"I'm fine. Really." Sam politely pulled away. He was shaky, but he was determined to prove he could walk by himself. "Besides...if I stay in that bed I'll go crazy."

"If you're sure..."

Sam nodded and sniffed the air. He was hungry. "Boy, it sure smells good in here..."

"Then have a seat." Al pointed with his spatula and smiled. It was good to see Sam acting more...well, human. Even his color looked better. 

Sam obliged, taking a seat next to Hattie. He grimaced a little, but managed to hide it fairly well. If he hadn't, his mother surely would have sent him back to bed. 

"We're having pancakes," Hattie said with pride, as if she'd made them herself. 

"Ohhh...then I'm glad I got up." Sam glanced over from Hattie to Al, who was retrieving some eggs out of a pan before they burnt. His eye was drawn to Al's hands as he saw the scrapes for the first time. He blinked and turned away before anyone noticed him staring. 

Jill was already handing him a plate, eager for him to eat. He'd had nothing but hospital food since his accident. "You tell us if you want more."

"Okay."

"Oh, and there's eggs and bacon."

"Oka--"

"Do we have enough eggs?" Perhaps a bit  _too_ eager. Jill leaned over the island and counted what Al had. "You know, I think we have some more outside. I'll go get them for you."

"I think this'll be plent--"

"I'll help you!" Hattie hopped out of her seat and chased after her mother.

"We'll be right back!" And they were gone. 

Sam sat there with a plate full of too many pancakes and a bemused expression that set the cut across his mouth askew. "...thanks." 

"Those two are too much," Al said fondly. He looked toward Sam, growing more serious. His friend was staring at the food, but not actually making any move to eat. "It's good to see you up, Sam."

As if just waking, Sam grabbed his fork awkwardly with his left hand and laughed weakly. "Feels good to be up. I've been a zombie these last few days."

"And you looked like one too."

"Yeah." Suddenly grim, Sam knit his brows and stared at his pancakes. He gripped his fork tightly in his fist as he tried to find the courage to speak. "Al..." He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I never, um....I never got the chance to thank you..." A pause. He glanced up, head held low. 

Al was staring at him, deadpan. He gave a careless shrug. "They're only pancakes, Sam." 

Sam snorted, which then turned into a cough. He held his aching side as Al wordlessly slid him a glass of orange juice. 

Even if he was hurting him a bit, Al was happy to make him genuinely laugh. It felt like he hadn't seen the real Sam in a long time. He studied the counter for a moment before continuing his response more sincerely. "...but I know. You didn't have to say it."

Sam looked up from his glass. Al's face was...complicated for him now, mixed with people and places that, in the end, Sam had to remind himself he had nothing to do with. He was his closest friend. By now he should know Al would do anything for him. He did. He went into hell and pulled him out. But he wondered if his friend would do things differently if he ever knew the truth.

Al wrapped his fist angrily around a dishrag. "...I'm just glad we got you away from those dirtbags." 

The comment might have been a misfire, because Sam started to look upset. Maybe it was too much at once. But now that Al was really looking, Sam didn't seem that much better after all. He looked tired despite all the sleep he'd been getting and sloped low under an immense weight. 

Al knew what he felt. He'd been there. But when it happened to him, the last thing he wanted was to talk about it. And if he talked about it with Sam, he'd have to go back there. Besides, this wasn't exactly the same thing. How could he tell him anything of comfort when he barely knew what happened in the first place? 

But they'd both seen the Devil. He just had different faces.

"Sam--"

"We found a couple more." Jill and Hattie returned with the eggs, taking them into the kitchen. "I hope that's enough."

As if a switch had been pulled, Sam brightened and put on a fake smile. "I'm sure it is."

"You haven't eaten anything yet." Jill looked worried. She gasped. "Oh! We forgot the butter." She started toward the refrigerator, but Sam lifted up a hand to stop her. 

"You know what? I'll get it."

"Nonsense, I'll--"

"Really. It's no problem." Before she could protest further, he slipped gingerly out of his chair and shuffled toward the fridge. 

Jill turned to Al with hope. "He's already doing so much better," she said quietly. 

Maybe. Al knew he was putting on a show, but that didn't mean he hadn't improved. "Kid's got spunk." A survivor, they'd said. Sam would be okay. He always was. 

"Can I help with eggs?" Hattie asked.

Al was temporarily bumped back to the present to see a little girl looking up at him with enthusiasm. "Oh, sure you can." He grabbed a bowl and placed the eggs inside. "You know how to crack one of these?"

"Of course I do, Grandpa!"

"I don't know what I'd do without you." He handed the bowl over. With a point: "This is a very important job, you know. I have it on good authority that your brother doesn't like eating shells." With a knowing smirk, he looked over his shoulder to get Sam in on the joke. 

Back turned to them, Sam was leaning against the wall and holding his side. 

"Sam?" Al rushed toward him with alarm, followed closely by Jill. "Sam, hey, what's goin' on?"

Sam turned around, his face tight as he tried to get his bearings. "Ahhh I think...maybe I moved too fast..."

"Sweetie, let's get you back in bed." Jill took him by the arm, but he shook his head insistently. 

"No...I don't want to be in bed anymore..."

"Sam--"

"Uh, you know what, why dont you let me take this one?" Al interrupted, grabbing Sam by his other arm. His tone suggested he wanted to have a talk with his grandson, which was true except for the grandson part. Reluctantly, Jill let go. "C'mon, Sam. We'll go lay down on the couch."

That seemed like a good compromise. Sam nodded and he led him toward the living room. 

\-------

Despite Al's clear suggestion to lay down, Sam opted to sit. Al didn't understand it. Obviously he was still in pain, but he was acting like he had something to prove. It wasn't like Sam. It was so pointless, so stubborn, so...so...well, like Al. 

Okay, maybe he understood a little bit. He decided to sit in the rocking chair in case Sam changed his mind. As Sam settled in, the sleeve of his robe pulled up over his cast, exposing the gashes on his arm. He noticed Al looking and self-consciously pulled his sleeve back down, drawing his robe in further to cover the bandages on his chest for good measure. He must have known Al had seen them in the hospital. Seen them when they were raw. But now he seemed ashamed. 

Al took off his host's glasses, folding them into his shirt pocket. "You should really take better care of yourself."

"I'm fine now," Sam dismissed, "I just overdid it, that's all." He bit his fingers and faced the fireplace.

"Uh-huh." Al was skeptical. He was hoping Sam would take his tone and roll with it, but evidently he just expected him to buy it. He rolled his eyes and sighed, rubbing the front of his pants with uneasy palms. He hated dancing around it, so he decided to just bite the bullet. "Sam, are we gonna talk about what happened?"

"I just need to rest a minute, that's all."

"You know I don't mean back there in the kitchen."

There was no avoiding it now. Sam still wouldn't look at him, thinking over how to keep playing dumb. Finally he shrugged. "What's there to talk about?"

"What's there to talk about?" Al repeated with disbelief, "Sam, you've just been through hell, and I don't even know half of what went down." But Sam still wasn't budging. Al leaned back in his chair and searched the room for the words. "Look...you know I'm not one to go prying into personal wounds, but I--I understand...you know...uh..."

Face intense and not at all focused on what Al was saying, Sam stood up and limped toward the mantle. He picked up the family photo and stared at it. "Al...who is this?"

So that was how it was going to be, huh?  It's not like Al was taking a big risk and exposing himself here.  Frustrated at Sam's silence, he nonetheless joined him and looked at the photo again. "Who?"

"This boy." Sam pointed at Virgil, clinking his cast against the glass. "I saw him in the woods today." 

Listening to the alarm bells in his head, Al's head whipped toward Sam with concern. But Sam either didn't notice or care that he was being eyeballed like a lab rat. "This kid?"

"Yeah. Outside my window." 

"Uhhh...I'm not sure who you saw, but it wasn't him." 

"It definitely was." 

"That's impossible."

At last, Sam turned his head toward him curiously. "Why?"

Studying the floor for a moment, Al shoved his hands into his pockets. This wasn't exactly how he wanted this conversation to go. "He's Sam Rich's brother, Virgil. He...died." 

"What? No, he's not dead." Sam jabbed his finger insistently at the picture. "I'm telling you, Al, I saw him. He looked exactly like this."

"That picture was taken five years ago. Even if he was still alive, he wouldn't look like that anymore." 

"But..." Sam pulled the picture closer, baffled, hoping maybe he'd see something different. "...I was so sure..." 

"Sam..." Al rubbed the back of his head tiredly and attempted to be tactful. "I think maybe...your host's memories are getting kind of...entangled with yours."

Sam's face became hard. He set the photo down and stayed there for a few moments. "So I'm seeing things."

"I wouldn't word it exactly that way, but yes."

Leaning against the mantle, Sam looked back over his shoulder. "How did he die?"

"He got lost, fell, and broke his neck. His brother was with him." Al sighed and studied the kid in the photo. "Must've been not long after they took this picture."

His brother was there. Sam's shoulders sunk and his head fell. 

Al ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. Hesitantly, he said, "Sam, I don't think it's a coincidence that you're magnafoozling with this kid's trauma after...recent events."

"You know what? I think I actually am pretty tired." Pushing away from the mantle, Sam shuffled past him. 

"Sam..." But Al's protest was ignored and once again he saw his friend disappear. Letting out a heavy breath, his body collapsed onto the couch under an impossible strain. 

He wasn't there for him then and he couldn't be here for him now. What good was he for anyway? 

Someone cleared their throat and he lifted his head, startled to find Gooshie there. "Jeez, Goosh! How long have you been standin' there like some kinda gargoyle?"

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Gooshie explained apologetically, "I just didn't want to interrupt. How are things going here?"

"Oh they're just peachy." Al flopped his hand in the direction Sam went. "Do you have anything on Templeton?"

"Nothing new, no."

"How'd I know that was gonna be your answer?" Standing up, Al put his hands on his hips and paced. "While you're being so useful, can you look something else up for me? I mean, only if Ziggy is up for it," he added sarcastically, "I wouldn't want to  _overburden_ her."

Gooshie tried not to take that too personally. He took pride in his work with Ziggy and--well, he didn't want to mention this to Al at the moment, but she was a little bit depressed after the whole bomb incident. "What is it?"

"One of Sam's nurses told me there was a girl from around here named Bernadette Ward that disappeared the same day the Rich kids got lost. Can you find anything on her?"

"The same day?" Gooshie frowned. "That's an odd coincidence. Do you think that means anything?"

"You tell me." 

Ziggy's handlink made an array of noises as the programmer input the information, searching through the Burnside records. For a parallel hybrid supercomputer, it wasn't much time at all. "Let's see...that's correct, a Bernadette Ward was reported missing on February 6th, 1968." His face fell sadly. "She was never found, and her family never closed the case. She's technically still considered a missing person today--er, that is,  _my_ today."

Damn. Al scratched at his cheek in thought when an idea struck. "She might've changed her name. The rumor around here is that she got knocked up and took off with the guy."

Gooshie held up the handlink and lifted his shoulders. "If she did, it's going to take a little more research to figure that out. But with only that information, I don't see how her disappearance relates to the Rich family. Sam and Virgil just got lost."

Simply a spooky coincidence? The jury was still out on that one, but Al knew he was onto something. "Do me a favor? Keep looking into it anyway." 

"We will." Gooshie punched in a few more buttons and the handlink squealed. After a moment, he looked up at Al tentatively. "Er--Ziggy says her time would be better spent focusing on the leap objective." 

"Tell her to can it," Al warned with a glare. That rusted pile of scrap metal should keep her opinions to herself. "So what if it isn't the main objective? I can at least try to give her loved ones some closure. That'd be nice, don't you think?" His hands flopped to his sides in irritation. "Seems like I can't help anyone this leap."

"You helped Dr. Beckett," Gooshie pointed out encouragingly. 

"Some help I was!" Al huffed, pacing quicker and throwing out his arms. He was getting awfully tired of sitting around and doing nothing. "Sam's completely checked out! He's--he's neurotic, he's closed off, he's hurting worse than he'll say--and...and I'm just sitting here making pancakes and dicking around!" Ripping off his apron, he tossed it aside and fell heavily onto the couch again. He wished he hadn't sat down quite so roughly, because that irritated his bruised side. Now he had to pretend he wasn't bothered to save face. Shifting his body and covertly nursing his wounded pride, he tried to speak in a calmer manner. "He's not himself, Gooshie. You know he hasn't even asked what we leaped here for yet? It's like he doesn't even care."

"Well...Ziggy has a theory about that..." Gooshie tentatively fiddled with the handlink and Al raised an expectant eyebrow. "She thinks that the reason the leap was instant and that you two arrived so much earlier than the mudslide is because Dr. Beckett needs time to recover."

Craning his neck with annoyance, Al's eyes glazed over. "Excellent theory, Ziggy. You know what would've helped Sam recover a lot quicker?  _Not leaping in when he's half dead._ "

"I...don't think she means physically, sir."

Now embarrassed and a little guilty, Al's anger faded. "Oh."

"And..." Gooshie was nervous that his anger might flare back up. Everyone was so tense lately. "...she gives it a 76.83% chance that you're supposed to help him with that, given your past experience."

Al's eyes hooded over again as he looked at the programmer askance. "I'm not a shrink. If that's part of the leap then beam Dr. Beeks in here; that's more her speed."

"I spoke with Dr. Beeks and she thinks Dr. Beckett should talk to you."

"Oh, Dr. Beeks is fulla crap..."

A puzzled Gooshie lifted his shoulders. "Forgive me if I'm missing something, but weren't you just talking to Dr. Beckett about this?"

"And you see how well it went!" Al slid to the edge of the couch and leaned forward. "He doesn't want to talk to me and frankly, I don't like bringing this stuff up either. Besides, I find it hard to believe that Time or Fate or Whoever the Hell leaped us in so we could discuss our feelings." Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood up again. "Come back when you have something I can actually use, okay?"

He started to leave, but Gooshie decided he wasn't going to let him. "With all due respect, Admiral," he said with authority, "I think  _you're_ full of crap."

Al twisted back. This of all days was when Gooshie decided to grow a spine? "What?"

"I think you're making excuses." Gooshie puffed up his chest and made himself taller, challenging Al. Al wasn't used to seeing him this way. He didn't know how to react to a Gooshie who wasn't being a pushover. 

"It...it wasn't an excuse, I just think my time could be better spent doing something else."

"That's a lie."

With a loud sigh, Al bent over and rubbed his hands down his face. "It's because I don't know what to do!"

"...what do you mean?" 

Al closed in and gestured toward the handlink. "It used to be I could just stroll through the Imaging Chamber door, pick up that big block of Legos, and I'd have all the answers. But now I just feel like I'm screwing everything up. I don't want to let Sam down, but I don't think I'm doing any good here." He shoved his hands into his pockets, averting his eyes. After a few moments, he lifted a single shoulder. "I dunno, I just feel...less than what I used to be. That's all."

"Admiral?" Al glanced up at Gooshie's sincere face. "Speaking as someone  _currently_ holding the big block of Legos...we all knew you were making it up as you went along." With a look, he opened up the Imaging Chamber and disappeared. 

Al stood there silently. Damn if he wasn't right though. 

\-------

Sam couldn't sleep. He'd spent so much time sleeping lately he figured he could afford to stay awake. If he was awake he didn't have nightmares, at least when his eyes were open, at least if he didn't think too long. 

He blinked and there was a scalpel, and glass, and if he remembered there was the laughter, always the laughter. Edward St. John's lips curled up in a little grin and the hammer came smashing down and turned everything red agony. His soaking body shivered uncontrollably in the snow as he begged to be let back into his prison. He  _begged_ them. They stripped him but by then he had nothing left. Just the memories of the life he left behind and the deep, horrifying truth: he was the cause of it all. 

He thought he was going to die. And maybe he should have. 

Al wouldn't understand. How could he? He didn't know what a horrible thing he'd done. Sam didn't know how he could ever trust himself after that. How he could go on leaping like everything was okay. All he knew was that if he pretended, they wouldn't ask questions. Wouldn't make him remember. 

He hated this bed. The sheets scratched at his scabs and made him itch. He threw the blanket off. Too exposed. They would find him. 

Crawling off of the bed, he thudded onto the floor and held his aching wrist to his throbbing chest. Once he could breathe again, he grabbed his pillow and slid under the bed. Yes. It was safer here. 

Shadows danced on the wall and smiled menacingly. He shut his eyes and saw glass. 

\-------

The next morning, Al visited Sam's room to find it empty. 

He was going all kinds of places for someone who shouldn't even be walking around. Al didn't want to be a nag, but he was going to have to get on his butt about this for his own good. Oh yeah, and at some point he should probably tell him about that mudslide, even if Sam wasn't going to ask. And while Al was at it, he was gonna have to come up with a reasonable excuse to get everyone out of there before this place disappeared.

"Hattie, have you seen Sam?" he asked as he descended the stairs. She sat at the foot of them playing with paper dolls. 

"Yeah. He's outside." Hattie put down her dolls and shrugged. "He said he wanted to go for a run."

"A  _what_ ?"

\-------

The screen door slammed shut behind Al as he scoped out the yard. He heard the Rich's cow moo from the barn and wondered just what Sam was pulling. 

Sure enough, he spotted him in the distance running along the dirt road that led from the farm into the middle of nowhere. "What the hell?" 

He had to sprint to catch up, but then again, Sam wasn't moving that fast. 

As he got closer, the worse it looked. Sam was dressed in jeans and a grey hoodie, covered in sweat, and struggling just to get an awkward jog out. He staggered occasionally, the agony evident on his face. 

"Sam!" Al called out with alarm, "Sam, what the hell are you doin'?!"

If Sam heard him, he didnt answer. He just kept stumbling down the road. 

"Sam! Hey!"

"'m just...goin' for a run, Al..." Sam gasped out. He shook the wet hair out of his face and wiped the sweat from his eyes. 

"A run?! You shouldn't be movin' around like this!" 

"I'm okay! I just...need some...fresh air..." Almost tripping himself up, Sam teetered over to the fence and groaned, half-keeled over and gasping. 

"You're not okay!" Al closed in and caught his own breath, alarmed at his appearance. Was he trying to put himself back in the hospital? "Sam...you look like hell."

Sam turned even paler, barely keeping himself from vomiting. "I'm...okay..."

"No, you're not. You're acting crazy." 

"Go home, Al..." Pushing himself off of the fence, Sam attempted to start up again. 

This time, Al reached out to stop him. If he had to save Sam from himself he would; he wouldn't let him down again. "Kid, you're scaring me." His friend pulled his shoulder away, so he reached for his arm. It wasn't hard to pull him to a stop. Sam leaned on his knees, huffing and puffing. "Look, I know you're dealing with a lot right now, but I'm not letting you kill yourself. Now let's go back and...and we'll talk about this."

"Why don't you just leave me the hell alone?!" Sam snapped, mustering up enough strength to shove Al. He didn't have much, but it was enough for Al to trip over his own feet and fall on his injured side.

It was a direct hit to the exact wrong place. Al let out a yelp, swearing under his breath. Damn old people shoes! That's what tripped him up.

Instantly, Sam's scowl turned to fear and he staggered back over. He hadn't expected to hurt him. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Ohhhh...yeah..." Al's face tightened as he sat up, clutching his side. "I just...got the wind knocked outta me, that's all..."

They were like two Humpty Dumpties, glued back together--or however the hell that one went. Sam's winces overlapped Al's groans as he clumsily lowered his broken body to his knees and lifted Al's shirt. Al quickly swatted him away, but he was just able to glimpse the bruising. "What happened...?"

"You're not the only one who got kicked around a bit, you know."

Realizing Al meant the previous leap, Sam's guilty eyes looked at him apologetically. Wordlessly, he shifted position and the two of them simply sat on the road together. 

While Sam was watching the sunrise, Al was watching him. His glistening face was a permanent question mark these days. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Sam licked his lips. "I was just thinking..." He paused and softly laughed with embarrassment. "...that I wish my mom was here." 

Al looked at the dirt. "I know, kid. I know."

"Al." Al raised a curious eyebrow and looked up. Sam was still staring at the sunrise, the struggle inside making words difficult. "I can't...do this anymore."

"This?"

"Leaping."

Both of them were tired, but this wasn't exactly a job you can quit. Al lightly lifted his shoulders, at a loss. "...what choice do you have?"

Sam met his eyes, heartbroken and tired. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Sitting in silence, they could only look ahead and contemplate their fears. Al wished he had some words of comfort, some joke to make things light, but he was having trouble coming up with anything when faced with Sam's utter sorrow. The kid just wanted to go home. If Al could give it to him, he'd do it in a heartbeat. 

Al had been searching for a home his whole life until Sam came along. He owed him that much.

\-------

Sam was fine.

Really. He was fine. A little tired. A little sore. Kind of dizzy. The distance back to the house, arm slung over Al's shoulder, was a little blurry. His vision wasn't that great to begin with anyway. Breathing was difficult. But he was fine.

He shouldn't have ran. Even if he wasn't a doctor, he would've known he was only going to hurt himself. The thing was he just couldn't stand it; he didn't want to be here any more. He didn't want to be anywhere but home. But he never would be again. 

Al had brought him back to reality, as he always did. All he was doing by running was hurting  _him_ , and he'd done that enough. He was tired of hurting people. 

He was just tired, period. 

It's not that he wanted to be. It felt like every moment there was this voice inside screaming at him to wake up, but his body just utterly refused. Like he'd never left the hospital. Never gotten off that table. He tried to pay attention to anything but his own misery and his brain turned itself on autopilot. He didn't know where he was or how to get himself back. 

As they passed by the trees outside the house, his body involuntarily shivered. He leaned closer to Al and averted his eyes. Stay out. Stay safe.

\-------

A momentarily puzzled Al noticed Sam react to the forest and felt him lean closer. Realizing this must be leftovers from the leapee, he steered them further away.  _Don't worry, Sam. I got you._

He'd never seen Sam act this way before, not when he was supposedly himself. Like he was actually his grandson and Al was the only thing protecting him from the monsters in the forest. Al could tell himself that this was  _all_ leftovers, but when it came to his own mind he was never a good liar. Sam--the real Sam--was scared out of his wits, and now that Al wasn't a hologram, he had someone physical he could hide behind. 

This was a hell of a lot easier for him when he  _was_ just a hologram.

That's when he saw a familiar, ratty face slinking around the farm. Leaned against the barn and smoking a cigarette, Remo made sure Al saw him before disappearing. He was trying to send a message. They were watching. 

Eyes slit, Al knew what he should be focusing on. 

Exhausted as he was, it was hard for Sam to miss this short interaction. "Do you...know him...?"

"We're acquainted." Al opened the front door. "Listen, I'm going into town. Do I need to worry about you taking off again while I'm gone?" 

Sam shook his head no. 

"Good." Leading him inside, Al started toward the stairs. "Now I'm making sure you  _go to bed_ ." He wouldn't let him protest. He was meant to look out for him, after all. 

If Sam didn't want to do the leaps anymore that was just fine. There were two of them, weren't there? 


	6. Chapter 6

Burnside was small, quaint, and humid as hell. It was not what Al would describe as a bustling place, which meant land was not exactly worth much. He could see the appeal of a tourist attraction. More visitors meant more business, which meant more workers, which meant more homes, which meant more money. And this Templeton guy seemed all about the dollar bill.

In fact, his office was the best-kept building in town. A pristine blue sign was proudly displayed above the door bearing his name in bright gold, with a tacky yellow star next to it. Cute. Like he was the Sheriff of Nozzleland. Well he was about to learn that there was a new sheriff in town.

Remo was waiting inside, flirting with the secretary at the front desk. He glanced over at Al, amused, and decided to keep flirting. Al cleared his throat and he pretended he just saw him. "Oh, hey there, Marcus. Fancy seeing you here."

"I want to speak to your boss."

"Gee, I dunno. Mr. Templeton is awful busy."

"Now now, Mr. Remo...My schedule is always open for Mr. Lambert." And there he was, the man himself. Templeton sauntered out of his office, looking as genuine as a used car salesman. He wore a three-piece purple suit that must have been expensive, but wrinkled from the heat, and two rings Al would bet money were fake. He was a hefty, red-faced man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and mutton chops that made his face wider.

"Templeton. It's nice of you to show up yourself." Al sized him up, unimpressed. "I'm sure it was a struggle for you to get up out of your chair."

Unruffled, Templeton put on a big, toothy smile. "What can I do for you today, Mr. Lambert? Come to finally accept my generous offer?"

"Actually, I have a proposal for you." Al stepped closer as Templeton raised his eyebrows curiously. Instinctively, Remo edged closer to his boss. "Here's the deal: you're gonna leave me and my family alone for good...and I won't report you to the authorities for stalking and harassment."

This elicited a hearty laugh from both of them. Even the secretary started to snigger. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Templeton claimed, feigning cluelessness.

"Oh? Then maybe something will slip about all of those taxes you haven't been paying."

Templeton's grin faded as he wondered how Al could possibly know about that. He adjusted his vest and coughed. "I'd like to see you prove any of these outrageous accusations."

"If you don't back off...that's exactly what's gonna happen."

\-------

Gritting his teeth, Sam turned away as Jill began the process of changing the bandages around his chest. He hated this part. He didn't want to see it. Didn't want to think about it.

"Sorry. I'm trying to be gentle."

Sam kept his eyes on the framed picture of his leapee and his brother Virgil. It had been turned back around. He was desperate for any other conversation than his bandages or going to bed or how he was feeling. "Must've been hard..."

"What was that?"

"Virgil."

Jill blinked in surprise. Her son never talked about his brother. For a beat, she was at a loss for words. "It...was hard on all of us."

"You lost a son. When my mom--" Sam caught himself. "I mean...I remember how _you_ were when we lost...uh, when we lost him." Did he? He hadn't lost Tom this time. But his memories merged with his host's and he imagined them as things might have been before he changed history. He remembered hearing his mother cry behind closed doors, but emerge strong enough to wrap her children safely in her arms. Always asking if they needed something but never taking the time for herself. Their rock.

When Tom was dead, had he realized his parent's sacrifice? Had he told them?

Jill focused on the bandages for a moment. "When...when your father left, I tried to take care of you and your sister the best I could." She bit back a sob, gauze scrunched in her hands. "I guess I didn't do a very good job."

Sam faced her again, brows furrowed. "But you did. God, you did. We were all grieving and you...you held the greatest weight because you were carrying all of us."

Near tears again, Jill gave an ugly smile. The words meant the world to her.

Sam missed his family. He missed his mother and his sister and his brother. His father. But he'd never see them again. Right now, all he had was...a replacement. But maybe that had to be good enough.

\-------

"Hey, you."

Wide eyed at being caught spying, Hattie peered into Sam's door.

"C'mere."

Hattie pointed to herself. Me? Sam nodded and she came in sheepishly.

Teasingly stern, Sam asked, "Why're spying on me?"

The little girl dug her shoe into the floor. "Mom said to let you sleep...and to leave you alone."

"Oh..." Sam's gaze drifted, disappointed. An invitation. "That's too bad, 'cause I could use the company."

With a big grin, Hattie race over to the bed and hopped onto the edge. "It's been so boring around here without you, Sam! You know, I caught three frogs yesterday and I didn't have anyone to help me stick them on Father Kolby's windows."

"Three whole frogs?"

"Yup." Hattie held up three fingers to demonstrate. She put her hands in her lap and blew out a breath. "Boy, I wish we could play tag or something."

Sam laughed softly. "I don't think I'm quite up to tag yet..."

"Oh. Okay." Eyes shifting mischievously, Hattie reached into her overall pockets and pulled out a handful of sugar cubes. "Then wanna help me give Sugarfoot a snack?"

\-------

Maybe he really had overdone it. Stepping over the various weeds, rocks, and uneven dirt that lead to the barn, Sam found himself winded and clutching his chest. Despite the heat, he folded his arms and shivered. Something didn't feel right.

To their left was the forest, and Sam felt looming eyes watching them. He didn't like being this close. Something toxic oozed out of the shadows and suffocated him.

Of course none of this registered with Hattie, who skipped ahead without a care in the world. After all, her big brother was back. Her pigtails swung from side to side in her excitement.

"Sugarfoot sure has missed you!" she called back.

Sam smiled politely, trying to hide his pain. Something caught his attention and he came to a dead stop.

An axe embedded in a tree stump. A frightened teenager flashed before his eyes. The crunch of metal hitting flesh and bone. The body left on the floor. The smell.

_You didn't have to kill him._

_Oh but Samuel...we didn't._ You _did._

"Oh no!"

A startled Sam turned a little too quickly to see what Hattie was yelling about, pulling at his bandages. She was standing by the open barn door in a panic.

"Someone left the door open," she said with worry. Sam remembered the man he and Al saw there that morning. "Sugarfoot is gone!"

"Oh..." Sam started looking around. "Well, I'm sure she's around here, uh, somewhere..."

"I know she went into the woods again. If the gators find her, they're gonna eat her up!"

"I don't think the..."

"I'm gonna go get her. Be right back!"

Before Sam could stop her, she was darting off into the forest. "Hattie, wait! Don't go in there!" He teetered a few steps in her direction, but found himself unable to move any further forward.

The branches of the trees reached out like skeleton hands, eager to pull him down to the depths he narrowly escaped. The dead wanted him. He couldn't run forever. An invisible force ripped it's way into him and clutched at his insides.

He...he couldn't leave Hattie alone in there. If he didn't get her she'd never get out. Little girls died in forests. Forcing his legs to move, he quickly followed her in.

\-------

Once again, a horrifying thought was floating through Al's mind and sending shivers down his spine: what if Ziggy was right? What if part of the reason they leaped here was for him to help Sam deal with everything that had happened to him?

But that smug, over-designed computer had a lot of harebrained ideas, some of which he didn't even bother relaying to Sam. Like that time she theorized Sam would leap if he made the lambada popular. That was an early one. Al scoffed at the memory. Sometimes Ziggy was an idiot.

It's not that Al didn't want to help him. He just didn't think some big guy in the sky would deem it leap-worthy. After all, if He thought Sam was so important, why would He let him get tortured in the first place? That seemed like a lousy grand plan, if he believed in such things.

Damn Gooshie for pointing out the obvious though. Al knew he was making excuses. This leap was bringing up bad memories for him and just like Sam, he found it easier to avoid his problems than confront them head on. And now he was supposed to go against how he'd led his whole life to tear open Sam's wounds too?

It took him two years of knowing Sam before he talked to him in any detail about Vietnam. Sam knew he was a POW--hell, it was hard to find someone who _didn't_ know thanks to Maggie Dawson's Pulitzer-winning photograph--but like so many aspects of his life, he kept it safe and guarded. Besides, it wasn't something you brought up in polite conversation. _Hey, how are you? Did I ever tell you about when I was tortured for eight years?_

Why the hell would he want to make Sam relive any of that?

\-------

Either the woods were getting bigger or Sam was getting smaller, either way he felt like he'd been swallowed by some large beast. A branch snapped in the distance. Was someone coming after him? Some _thing?_

"Hattie...?" he whispered, barely able to hear himself. He couldn't shout. He couldn't let himself be found.

They'd take him back and he'd realize this was all a dream. He wasn't rescued and he would die in this place if he was lucky. His family would never know. He was just the neglectful brother; the absent son. Sam Beckett disappeared and never returned home. Maybe it was better this way, to spare them.

He'd lost her. How could he lose her? She was counting on him. He'd said he was going to get her out and she'd died. They'd all died because of him. A bird cawed and he cried out, spinning around.

There was Virgil again.

He stood out in stark relief. While everything else was cast in shadow, he was illuminated in a haunting blue glow. There was a calmness about him, though he showed no expression.

Sam wasn't sure what to do. Logic told him he was experiencing some sort of residual from the boy he'd leaped into, but his heart said that this ghost had a message for him. "What...what do you want...?"

Saying nothing, Virgil turned and walked further into the woods.

Telling him to follow.

So Sam did, struggling past the thick branches and humid swamp air, compelled by some outside force to keep going forward. He wasn't entirely sure if he was acting on his own or if this was Sam Rich moving him along. And each time he started to slow, Virgil waited patiently for him to catch up. He had time. Just keep going.

He didn't know how long this went or where he was going, but he felt strangely like he'd followed this path before. Like Sam and Virgil had.

The spirit had stopped. He stood beside a large tree and again waited for Sam.

Sam didn't know how he knew, but he wanted to show him something. Trying to catch his breath, he staggered through the overgrown plants and toward the mystery. He understood that this was crazy. Virgil was not real; a delusion likely brought on by his leapee's trauma and his pain medication. But somehow...he felt this was something he had to do. There _was_ something there.

When he reached the tree his foot snagged on something. He looked down, expecting a rock or branch...but that's not what he found.

Screaming, Sam fell backwards and scrambled away.

\-------

When Al arrived back, he wasn't expecting to find Jill racing around the house in hysterics. For crying out loud, he'd only been gone for a few hours! He couldn't be everywhere at once. What had happened now?!

"What's going on?"

"I can't find them, Dad!"

"Can't find who?"

"The kids!" She ran her fingers through her hair; she was about to have a breakdown. "I-I-I-I just--I just left them alone for a little bit so I could start peeling potatoes and when I went to check on them, they were gone!"

Instantly, Al was in crisis mode. Sure, this morning Sam had had his little moment, but he wouldn't just take off with Hattie. But before Al too became a big pile of incoherent noodles, he had to think through this reasonably. "Alright, let's just keep a level head. Where was the last place you saw them?"

"In Sam's room, but they're not there anymore! I've checked everywhere--I asked Father Kolby if they were next door with him and he said he hadn't seen them!"

"Okay okay okay, look--" Raising his palms, Al tried to calm her. "Clear your mind. Could they have walked anywhere else? To any other neighbors?"

"Who? We haven't had another neighbor since the Ward place was demolished." Jill rubbed her forehead, trying to think. "Besides, how far is Sam going to walk?"

Judging by his run that morning, not far. "Well...what about the woods? Did you check there?"

Jill's eyes went wide with shock at the mere suggestion. "Dad...you know Sam hasn't gone back there since Virgil died. Why would he...?" Suddenly, something clicked and she gasped. "Sugarfoot!"

"Sugarfoot?"

"She was missing!" Jill was already hurrying toward the door. "Remember last time? She took off into the swamp and we had to go get her out. Maybe they went after her."

It was as good a theory as any. As Al followed her out, he wished he had an egotistical super computer to help in this situation.

\-------

"SAM! HATTIE!"

Al and Jill traipsed through the swampland and called out, but so far they'd come up with bupkis. No Sam and no Hattie, not even a sign of Sugarfoot. And although Al was worried, he was getting just a little bit miffed at Sam. He'd told him to stay put, and instead he decided to go off on a wild horse chase! He was going to have a strong word with him once they found him. And as for Sugarfoot, that stubborn horse was gonna get her ass figuratively kicked. Or at least...she wasn't getting any extra sugar cubes.

But damn it, he hoped Hattie and Sam were alright. There were a lot of things out here that could hurt a kid. No one knew that more than Jill Rich. Right now she was reliving her worst nightmare; searching for her children in the very place one of them was found dead.

And then, like the voice of an angel, a little girl could be heard in the distance. "Mom! Grandpa!"

"Hattie!"

"Oh!"

They took off toward the sound, eventually finding a scared and dirty little girl holding onto the mane of her pain in the ass horse. "Mommy!"

Oh thank god. But where was Sam? Al craned his head to search behind Hattie, but his friend was nowhere in sight.

Jill nearly tumbled into her daughter, pulling her into a tight hug. "Baby, I thought I told you never to come here without me!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. Sugarfoot got out."

"I know..." Jill stroked her hair, just happy to find her in one piece. When she pulled back, she asked worriedly, "Where's your brother?"

"I don't know," Hattie answered guiltily, "I lost him."

"You _what?!_ " It was five years ago all over again. Jill clutched Hattie closer, breathing hard, eyes darting around the forest.

Something was very wrong.

"SAM!" Al took off in a desperate search. What if he'd slipped and broken his neck just like Virgil? He'd already exhausted himself earlier. And yet again, Al was MIA when it really counted. Was there anything he wasn't going to mess up this time around?

\-------

It had been three hours without any sign of Sam. After a brief stop to take Hattie back and leave her with Father Kolby, Al and Jill went straight back to searching. Al hadn't wanted to stop at all, but Jill had insisted: they stay together.

They hadn't covered much ground, but the distance didn't actually mean anything. It was so dense with trees that it would be easy to get turned around and not know how to get back. Sam could be anywhere.

Al trudged through the muck, separating from Jill but making sure to stay within shouting distance. "SAM! SAAAAAAM!" He glared skyward. _You put us here. Now why don't you do something for us for a change and give me a damn sign?_

CLUNK. Like a thunderous warning from above.

Al spun around and raced toward the noise. A rotted tree had collapsed. He hung his head and stopped to catch his breath. He'd stupidly thought this might've meant something.

And then he heard someone else breathing. Short, jagged, gasping breaths, like they couldn't get any air. Curiously, he followed the sound and pushed aside some branches.

There was Sam, huddled against a tree with his knees up. His body trembled uncontrollably as he struggled to breathe.

"Sam!" Al stumbled toward him, kneeling down in the mud. "Sam! Hey, didn't you hear us calling you?"

Sam wouldn't respond; he wouldn't even look at him. He just stared at something ahead, too terrified to speak or move. He looked pale and sweaty; haunted, like he was staring through the veil of life and death.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Al checked him over. He didn't seem to be further injured. Baffled, he slowly followed his eyeline to whatever he was staring at. And his mouth fell open.

Just surfacing from the dirt was what remained of a human hand.

\-------

"It's Bernadette Ward."

The body had been dug up and was being transported via body bag into a hearse. Al watched them pack her in, Gooshie just behind him, and thought about how young she must have been. Judging by Jayne's age, fifteen maybe? Too damn young. He'd wanted to give Jayne an answer, but he'd really hoped for a better one to give her.

Gooshie stepped up closer. "It seems you changed history."

"No, I didn't. Sam did."

"Er--right, Dr. Beckett did." The programmer cocked his head. "But how did he know where to find her?"

"I don't know." Al ripped off his glasses, rubbing his hand over his face with anger. "He won't talk, he's so terrified. Gooshie, things are much worse than I thought."

Hesitantly, Gooshie twisted his fingers together. "Have you tried--"

"I know! I need to talk to him!" Al blew up, spinning around and stomping back toward the house. Gooshie hurriedly followed. "Tell Dr. Beeks she was right! She always was. I don't wanna hear one word about it whenever I leap back."

"But you were right too!"

"Huh? About what?"

"About there being another reason for leaping," Gooshie answered, slightly out of breath. Why didn't he just shift his image using the handlink? Amateur. "Ziggy gives it an 86.92% chance you're here to solve Bernadette Ward's murder."

Al stopped and Gooshie accidentally walked through him. They both had to readjust themselves. "So she _was_ murdered."

"It seems so. The autopsy revealed her cause was death was strangulation." Gooshie scratched at his ear and squinted one eye. "...and she was pregnant."

So that was it then. Some monster couldn't keep it in his pants and Bernadette ended up paying the price. He'd bet even money that the killer and the father were one and the same. "Did they ever figure out who the father was?" he asked in a low, forcibly calm tone.

"Unfortunately not, but there has to be a record of who she was seeing at the time." Gooshie began punching buttons on the handlink.

Judging by her reputation, that would be hard to narrow down. This could take awhile. It was frustrating waiting for Ziggy when Al was still at the Project; now it was interminable. He could see why Sam was in a bad mood so often.

But something else was troubling Al. The more everything in this leap rolled around in his mind, the more sinister it became. "Gooshie...I don't think it's a coincidence that she disappeared the same day as the Rich kids."

"What are you saying?" Gooshie squinted further.

A grim shadow fell over Al's face. "I'm saying that Virgil's death was no accident...and I think there's only two people still alive who know who did it."

The killer and Sam Rich. Gooshie's eyes bugged out as he put the whole terrifying scenario together. "Oh boy..."

There was little time to waste. Once again Al started toward the house, but he stopped to give Gooshie his last orders. "While I'm trying to talk to Sam, you see if you can get anything out of the kid in the Waiting Room."

"Me?" Gooshie straightened up, thrown off guard. "I--Er--Maybe it would be better if--"

"Oh that's good." Al raised an eyebrow and lowered his chin. "You're nagging me about _my_ issues, but suddenly things are different when the shoe's on the other foot?" He shifted his stance and pointed. "Look, there's a killer on the loose somewhere and I want to nail them. We need all the ammo we can get."

Putting on a brave face, Gooshie nodded and opened the Imaging Chamber. Al heard it whoosh closed as he went back into the house.

\-------

The reason Al hated hospitals was because everyone in them was dying in some way. When he'd returned from Vietnam, he'd spent months recovering in a Naval hospital, watching corpses roll in and out of rooms as sunken eye sockets watched them go impassively. The ones that hadn't given up hope yet would look at Al like he could somehow solve their problems, give them something to latch onto, but how could he give them anything when his heart had been ripped out of his chest and left a gaping hole in Beth's place? He saw too many men rocking back and forth, trapped in their own waking nightmare.

Sam looked exactly like them when he found him in the forest.

But the thing was, Al did get better. It took him nearly three decades, but eventually he found out that there was life after death. Through many self-destructive pitfalls, he gradually scotch-taped his life back together until the fateful day he met Sam Beckett: Enviously optimistic, ambitious, and full of hope. Al found his life's purpose through him. And he realized he'd been so focused on the past this leap, he forgot what got him out of that hole in the first place.

It was a work in progress, but wasn't everything?

He found Jill outside of Sam's bedroom, arms folded and eyes red and puffy. She'd needed to get away, to escape just for a moment.

"Any luck?"

Her chin trembled and she shook her head. "No...it's just like before, Dad. I told you this would happen. I told you."

"My father in Heaven, is it true?" It was a third voice. Father Kolby and Hattie approached up the stairs. "Did they really find Bernadette Ward?"

Al rubbed his eye tiredly. "Yeah. It was her."

"Is she dead?" Hattie softly asked.

Jill came over and cupped her face. "Shh, don't think about that. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

"Tell you what," Al suggested, "Why don't you and Hattie take a breather downstairs? Maybe Sam will talk to me." Squeezing his hand affectionately, Jill wordlessly agreed and left.

However, Father Kolby was heading for the door. "Perhaps I can talk to the boy."

"I don't think so," Al said, stepping in his way. He didn't have time for this. Kolby seemed surprised. "Uh--Look, it's, uh, it's not personal, he just knows me better."

"Then maybe I can go with you?"

Opening the door, Al backed inside uncomfortably. "Thanks, but, uh...I don't think Sam is looking for spiritual guidance." The last thing they needed was a white collar with good intentions. He shut the door and left him in the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was still huddled, sitting on top of the bed and crammed as far as he could into the corner. He kept his hands over his head, making himself as small as possible.

God. Al found it hard to look. He'd spent so much time as a hologram, unable to touch or affect Sam in any way, that he now found he was rusty and a bit useless when it came to these things. 

But then again, he was always that way when he thought about it. 

He lightly cleared his throat, trying not to frighten Sam any further. He didn't move. "Sam? It's Al." 

Slowly, Sam peered over his knees with wide eyes. 

"It's okay. It's just you and me." 

Sam's gaze darted to the door, unsure they were really alone. But his attention to the present waned; his breathing became shallow as he focused on the nightmare in his head. 

Pity and frustration got tangled up in painful knots in Al's gut. How could he make this better? It was hard to make it much worse. He pursed his lips and decided to just keep talking. "Her name was Bernadette Ward. And I think...we leaped here for her."

The only indication Sam heard him was the slightest twitch of his eyebrows. But otherwise, he continued to do what he had done since he'd been found in the woods and locked himself away. 

Al knew he  _could_ hear him. However, hearing and listening were two separate things. Sam didn't  _want_ to listen. Not because he didn't care, but because the burden was too much. "I know it's hard, Sam," Al sighed, taking off his glasses. He sat down at the desk and leaned onto his hand, studying him carefully. "But if we don't help these people, no one else will."

A bit unsure, Sam's head unevenly turned to glance at Al. Sure enough, those words had awakened the cosmic Boy Scout. When at last he felt brave enough to speak, he simply whispered, "She's dead." 

Al straightened slightly, encouraged by the breakthrough. He lifted his brows sadly. "Yeah. She's dead." 

Concentrating intensely ahead of him, Sam screwed up his face in pain and skewed the slash across his mouth. "She's dead...because of me."

"What?" Al leaned back with confusion. "What do you mean, because of you? She died five years before we even leaped in."

"I killed her!" Sam insisted, eyes wild, "It's all my fault, Al! He was just a kid!"

"He?" But Sam was starting to hyperventilate again. He took in fast, gulping breaths and held his chest. Al darted over. "Hey."

Whatever was going on in Sam's mind, it was clear that his behavior was frightening even himself. As he struggled for air, he looked to Al with fear. "What's...happening...to me...?"

"You're having another panic attack. Just breathe. Sam--focus on me." Hands firmly on Sam's shoulders, he turned him to face him straight on. His friend met his eyes and slowly started to catch his breath. "Good. That's good. Keep going. Breathe in...and breathe out..."

It took a couple of minutes, but Sam was finally able to calm himself. Breathe in...and breathe out, just like Al said. Strange. He'd convinced himself he was dying, but here he was. 

Once Al was sure he was getting better, he sat down at the desk and waited. He didn't want to rush him. He always hated when people got impatient before digging into his nightmares. Sure, they wanted him to get better, but only because it was more convenient for them. Al wanted Sam to know that this was for him. 

Leaning against the wall and rubbing his knees, Sam seemed embarrassed. "I've never...had a panic attack before..."

"I have." Sam looked up with surprise. "But not for a long time. It, uh...it's kinda scary, huh?"

Sam frowned and swallowed. A silent agreement. 

"Sam...what did you mean, you killed her?" Al waited for Sam to meet his eyes again. His mouth was a hard line. "This isn't about Bernadette, is it?"

He could see his friend's inner turmoil. He  _wanted_ to tell him everything; he was just scared out of his mind to go back there. Al knew it was a long plunge to take without knowing how deep the water was. Sam scratched by his cast, realizing his sleeve was riding up and pulling it back down over his gashes. 

Someone had to know. It would consume him from the inside if he held it within him any longer. 

Speaking it aloud felt like he was severing his last ties to the world, but Sam couldn't erase the thoughts that plagued him day and night; couldn't pretend they weren't there. "At that...place..." A beat. "There was a kid there named Kevin. He was, um...he was taken, just like me. The first time I tried to escape...I convinced him to come. They caught us, and--" Sam stopped himself and took in a jagged breath. "...they killed him, Al. Right in front of me, they killed him." His jaw clenched in confused fury; it wasn't fair. "And when they--" He stopped himself from finishing the sentence. He couldn't. "...they just left his body on the ground like...like he was a  _thing_ , like garbage."

Across from him, Al tensed up and clenched his hands tightly around the armrests of his chair. His knuckles were white. 

"And when I was left alone with him, I looked into his eyes...and I knew it was all my doing." He didn't deserve Al's friendship, not after what he'd done. Unloading this knowledge did nothing to help the people he'd wronged, but it was only right that he be exposed for what he truly was.

But Al wasn't here to dish out blame. "Sam." He leaned forward with soft eyes. "You are not responsible for the things those nozzles did.  _They_ killed him." 

"But I  _am_ responsible, Al! I'm responsible for everything!" Sam slammed his hands onto the bed and pulled himself closer. He was adamant; Al would not absolve him for things he didn't fully understand. He didn't know the whole story. Then, horrified, he whispered, "I created it."

"Huh?"

"That handlink we left in the 40s after we switched places. They...they got their hands on it and created their Project. That's why it looks so much like ours, Al. It  _is_ ours." Shaking his head, Sam looked toward the ceiling with grief. "God, I created that place. I caused all of those horrible things to happen."

"Oh,  _Sam_ ..." 

Suddenly everything fell into place for Al, why they never encountered the evil leapers until after that fateful leap where they switched places, how everything could be laid out exactly the same as theirs. 

This was a lot for Al to take in, but he'd be damned if he sat there and let Sam blame himself for what happened. For all of those evil, unspeakable things. Pity turned to righteous anger. " That's a load of crap and you know it.  If anything,  _I_ was the one who lost the handlink." He pointed to himself. "So by that logic, that makes  _me_ the one at fault, and I am  _not_ taking the fall for those vile lowlifes."

Sam was frustrated that he wouldn't let him under the bus he was determined to flatten himself with. " _I_ created Project Quantum Leap! It was  _my_ dream to go messing around in time and look what happened!"

"Damn right, look what happened!" Al shouted, standing up, "Sam, I've watched you save so many people throughout your lifetime and sometimes even beyond that. You started this Project because you wanted to help people, and someone took that idea and--and twisted it into something unconscionable. But you can't be held accountable for things outside of your control." 

"What if I didn't create the Project with noble intentions, Al?" asked Sam indignantly, fingers curled into the bed like claws, "What if I just wanted to prove that I could do it and damn the consequences? I rushed into the first leap because we were going to lose funding. You even said it yourself: I wasn't thinking about anyone but me."

"So you didn't look before you leaped," Al dismissed with a shrug, "You're only human, Sam. But I know exactly who you are. I know because you and I were friends long before Project Quantum Leap and you were always a Boy Scout. Before a time machine was even in the picture, you were saving lives just by being yourself." 

Sam cocked his head skeptically. "Don't patronize me, Al." 

"I'm not; I mean it."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because you saved mine."

For a moment, silence. Al had been different then. So had been Sam. 

Sam heard what he said, felt so deeply for what he'd just been told, and desperately wanted to believe what Al was telling him about himself. But it sounded like he was talking about someone else, someone far away from where they were. The old Sam seemed so sure. Not broken like he was. 

No matter what he tried, he couldn't shake the thought of what happened, what they did to him. Imagining one of them waiting for the moment he let his guard down to strike next. To chain him up and make him so incredibly small. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as unbidden memories tried to reach the surface again. 

It didn't used to be this way. Sam had faced death before, more times than his swiss-cheese brain would let him remember. And every time he'd bounced back and stepped up again to right some wrong in history. But this time...this time was different. But why? Why couldn't things stay the same? Why did this have to happen to him? To them? 

Sam shook his head, retreating into himself. "That doesn't change anything, Al. That doesn't undo anything that they did."

"It doesn't make it your fault either." 

"You don't understand! You weren't there!"

Al fell silent at Sam's outburst. 

The Inside Sam was screaming again.  _Don't push Al away! Don't make him leave you alone! If you're alone then they'll get you! You're weak!_ But Sam didn't know what to say now. How to show Al how he was feeling. 

Scratching the back of his head, Al cast his eyes down and thought about what he wanted to say, about how much he was willing to pull from himself. "Sam, lemme show you somethin'." 

Approaching the bed, he blinked a few times and gave himself a moment. Then very slowly, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. 

Furrowing his brows as his friend kneeled beside him, Sam jumped when Al gently grabbed his arm. But he was reassuring. Trust him. Tentatively, Sam eased up and allowed Al to pull back his sleeve and reveal once again the lacerations left by his torturers. Placing their arms side by side, he let Sam see just how much he truly did understand. 

Mirroring Sam's wounds were Al's scars. Old, faded with time, but they could feel every one of them as if he were back in that jungle. A long white line ran across the top of his forearm. Sam hadn't remembered. Or maybe he'd kept it from his mind. 

They were the same. 

"I was there." Al pulled back, leaning on his haunches. "Do you know how many kids I saw die? How--How many times I wondered if I coulda done something differently or saved someone from my fate?" His face twisted with guilt. "God, Sam,  _you_ were one of those kids. You have no idea how much it killed me inside every minute I was wasting before I could leap in and get you out of that hellhole." His guilt became conviction. Anger. "But you know what? It wasn't our fault, damn it! Just because we had to fight in these wars doesn't mean we started them." 

It was one neverending war, wasn't it? One leap to the next, and the next, until the day their time ran out. Sam grabbed his head with one hand, overwhelmed. "I don't wanna fight anymore, Al..." 

"I know you're tired. I wish I could leap you home and--and let you rest. It's not fair." Al tightened his mouth in frustration. Leaning down, he made sure Sam met his eyes. "But I can promise you this: You are not alone. And you could get flung to the farthest time and place and I will always find you. Believe that."

Sam did believe him. And for the first time this leap...he felt some sense of relief. A comforting hand grasped his shoulder and again for the first time this leap, he didn't shrink back at someone's touch. Together. They were together. 

"We're gonna get home someday," Al said with certainty, "I know we will."

Sam wasn't convinced, but it was a nice thought. Those were in such short supply these days.

"And we can start by getting out of this leap. How did you know where to find Bernadette, Sam?"

Yes. The leap. Sam could do that. Pursing his lips, he thought of his ghostly encounter and still didn't quite understand. But he knew one thing: his brother wanted him to find her. "Virgil showed me."

\-------

"Sam? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Sam Rich was small even for his age, which made his ears and eyes bigger. He was so nerve-wracked that his big eyes and small frame made him look much like a deer in headlights, but currently, the two adults in the Waiting Room saw him as Sam Beckett. He sat on the table and cautiously eyed the redheaded man with a mustache he was being introduced to.

"This is Dr. Irving Gushman. He'd like to talk to you if that's okay."

"Call me Gooshie," Gooshie interjected with a friendly tone, extending his hand. Boy, his breath reeked. With a tentative look at Dr. Beeks, the boy took his hand. "It's very nice to meet you."

Sam ducked his head low. "It's nice to meet you too," he mumbled. Just do what they want. Get this experiment over with. 

The older man scratched at his head, the second most nervous person in the room. Gazing at the pile of books that had been supplied by the Project, he awkwardly chuckled. "Wow, you sure like to read, huh?" 

The kid's mouth twitched. The man was kind of funny. "I don't have a lot of friends."

"Oh." Gooshie tried to look friendly, but his wide eyes only made him look more like a bug. "Well, don't worry. I didn't have a lot of friends either when I was growing up." He skewed his mouth on second thought. "Actually, come to think of it, I don't have a lot of friends now."

Dr. Beeks cleared her throat pointedly. This wasn't a helpful topic. 

"Er--anyway...Can I sit down?" Sam nodded and Gooshie sat next to him on the table. He'd been in here many times, but very rarely did he have an extended talk with the leapees. He was just as content to let Dr. Beeks take care of that. After all, he was much too neurotic himself to help out unwilling time travelers who were frightened, panicked, or--and these were the worst--violent. But in this case, he saw a little boy who reminded him of himself. "Thanks," he breathed, "My feet were killing me."

"Do they smell as bad as your breath?" 

Gooshie laughed, genuinely this time. "I bet worse, sorry to say."

The boy laughed too. He looked down and studied his hands for a moment. "Did you want some of my books? I mean, since you don't have any friends."

It was just so earnest. Gooshie found himself touched that he cared so much, and guilty because he didn't want to repay him by bringing him such terrible memories. But he had a job to do. "Well, no--thank you, but no. I actually...have something very important to ask you about."

"What is it?"

"It's, er, about the experiment." Gooshie twiddled his thumbs. "Which is to say, it'll help us to finish it." He paused, but he wasn't sure what he was expecting in response. Looking at the boy was a mistake at this point because although he saw Dr. Beckett, his innocent expression just seemed too pure. "Can you help us?"

The boy furrowed his brows and tentatively nodded again. "Okay."

"Okay then..." Gooshie took a deep breath. "I need to know...a-about the day you and your brother disappeared."

The reaction was immediate. Sam Rich hopped off of the table and turned white as a ghost. "No, I can't talk about it."

Dr. Beeks was instantly by his side. "It's okay, Sam. This is a safe place."

"No it's not!" Pulling away, the kid hid under the table. 

Gooshie, who had practically fallen off of his seat, stood there awkwardly with Dr. Beeks as she gave him a warning look. This was not going well and she would not let him traumatize her patient for much longer. He wasn't sure if he was more scared of her or Admiral Calavicci. Either way, he was going to get chewed out by someone today. 

He got down to his knees to face Sam under the table. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Really. Sorry. I don't mean to scare you. But this could mean..." He grunted as he adjusted himself awkwardly on the hard floor. "...this could mean life or death for someone."

Sam was refusing to respond now. He hugged his knees and stared ahead. 

Gooshie sighed sadly. He didn't want to hurt him. "Is it because of whoever killed Bernadette?"

A gasp. The boy's head jerked toward him with wide eyes. "How--How did you know about that?"

Gooshie pursed his lips sympathetically. "Because...we found her."

At this, the kid's mouth trembled and his eyes misted, his mind unwillingly taking him back. The tears began to fall freely. "They...they were arguing and--and he hit her." He jerked back, eyes wide, as if being struck. "He kept hitting her, over and over. And when she started screaming, he made her stop..." He rubbed his hands over his throat. "Virgil and me, we saw it. We saw it all...and that's when he saw us." He hugged his knees closer, his heart beating as fast as it did that day. His pupils shrank and he began to sweat. "We just kept running! And I told Virgil to go faster and--and that's when he fell." He began to sob. "And he never got back up again..." 

Gooshie was about ready to cry himself. The two boys must have been paralyzed with fear. And for Sam to have waited with his brother for two weeks after that, and carry this silently for so long? It was unfathomable. "Wh-Who did it, Sam? Who killed them?"

But the boy couldn't speak anymore. He was too lost in the memory, too fragile. 

"Please. I need to know."

Dr. Beeks placed a firm grip on Gooshie's arm. "That's enough."

"B-But--"

"I said that's enough, Gooshie."

\-------

Jill Rich was finding it difficult to keep herself together, but she wondered if she'd ever really become whole again after the first time she fell apart. She couldn't keep her husband there, support him like he needed because she was too scared for their son who had lived. She couldn't protect Sam from the dangers of the world. Every time she turned her back there was something new and horrific for him to face. He was not well, but he had started to get better, and now...she feared he'd never become the little boy he once was. 

For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why he'd gone back into those woods. Every time he so much as looked at them, he got pale and sick. So why now? Why when he was so vulnerable? He'd never recover from seeing that poor girl's body. 

Her heart hurt thinking of Bernadette Ward. Everyone suspected she had left with one of her boyfriends, but to see this... What did it matter who she slept with anyway? She felt guilty for thinking the worst of her when she was buried practically in her back yard. What if someone thought that about Hattie when she was old enough? If, god forbid, something happened to her? She stroked her daughter's hair as she laid in her lap and held one of her dolls close.

Father Kolby sat next to them on the couch and gave a sympathetic smile. "I know this must be difficult for you, Jill."

"She was fifteen. Not much older than Sam." 

He nodded sadly. "She was a light extinguished too soon." 

"Father..." Jill folded her hands and tightened her mouth. It was hard trying to hold back her fury. "Why did God let this happen? I--I know he tests us, but how could he do this to my child again? How could he let that girl die like that?" 

Patiently, Kolby placed his hands on his thighs and thought carefully about his words. "Jill, I must be honest and say that I don't understand everything God does," he replied candidly, "But what I do know is that He places people in and out of our lives for a reason. Every decision, every loss, every gain, sets someone on a different path and into someone else's life. It may not always be clear, but every path leads to God's outcome. He doesn't make mistakes." 

\--------

Al had been hit with some divine inspiration. They still had a killer to catch, but if there was any upside to this sorry situation, he now had a pretty good excuse to get everyone clear of that damn mudslide. Hallelujah. 

When he entered the living room, Father Kolby got to his feet. Jill seemed just as anxious, but she didn't want to disturb Hattie. "How is he?" 

Al scratched at his temple. "Uh--Well, he's doing...better."

Jill couldn't decide if she was relieved or not. Hattie looked up at her and she stroked her hair reassuringly. "You hear that? Your brother's doing better." 

"Praise the Lord," Kolby breathed, looking to the sky.

"But I think...maybe it would do him some good to get away from this place for a bit." 

"Do you think so?" Jill was hesitant. 

"Absolutely." Al was pretty good at pretending this was a spontaneous idea. He gestured animatedly. "Why don't we all just leave for a few days? We take us and the animals and...I dunno, stay at a friend's place. And Father," he turned to Kolby, "I'd really love it if you could come with us for some spiritual guidance. Sam really looks up to you." Even though he hadn't been a practicing Catholic since he was a child, he still felt a bit guilty lying to a priest. Well...maybe not  _that_ guilty. And back to Jill, "I think we all need a break from the negative attachments here. What do you say?"

"I just don't know..."

"God doesn't always speak to us directly," Kolby pointed out as he considered it. 

Taken aback, Jill thought on it for a moment. All eyes were on her. It  _did_ sound nice to get away from everything, just for a short time. "Then...I suppose I'll make some calls."

Internally, Al was smug as hell. What did he tell Gooshie? The mudslide was a piece of cake. 

A loud banging on the door caused them all to jump. Since Al was the closest, he got up to answer.

He found a red-eyed Jayne on the other side. Aw jeez. Another thing making him sick this leap was seeing so many tears and feeling utterly helpless to do much about it. 

"I'm--I'm sorry to come over unannounced. But...I h-had to know."

Al looked at her empathetically. Oh yeah. There was that whole murder thing. "You're alright. Come on in."

Nodding and meekly stepping inside, Jayne froze when she saw the others. When Al gave her a questioning look, she asked quietly, "Can I speak to you alone?" 

"Yeah. Let's go upstairs." 

\-------

"I'm sorry...again." Jayne twisted her fingers together and stared out the window at the end of the hallway. "I don't like talking about this in front of everyone. But I trust you."

Hell if Al knew why that was, but he knew why she was here. Rubbing his temple uncomfortably, he sighed. "If you're wondering if it was her...it was. I saw her myself."

Jayne hugged herself and moaned in muted despair. "God...part of me hoped that...that she..." 

She wasn't the only one. Some small part of Al had hoped that this leap had one happy ending, that Bernadette had run away and was alive somewhere. And not...compost. Was it too much to ask for just one break? 

"Me too," Al told her when it was clear Jayne couldn't find the words. Her head fell in her hands and she began to sob. Awkwardly, he patted her back to try and comfort her. What the hell good was this doing? He rubbed his eyes. This leap needed to give him something to  _do_ other than offer words that didn't solve anything! "I'm sorry. Here, lemme get you some water and something to dry your eyes. Okay?" 

"Oh no, I don't want to trouble you..."

"Trouble?" Al repeated disbelievingly, "I got Kleenex comin' outta my ears around here. I think we can spare some." 

She half-laughed and nodded. With that, Al took off to get what he promised and left Jayne at the window with her thoughts.

"Did you know her?"

She gasped and turned around, not having noticed she wasn't alone. And there stood Sam, timidly leaning in the doorway. 

He'd heard her crying. He didn't want to hear any more of it. Something about Jayne reached inside him, the part of him that might have been brave once, and allowed him to step out of that bedroom. He hadn't been sure if he could do it again. Even now the hallway seemed to be closing in. But she had been so kind to him. He hated to see her suffer. 

That was something, wasn't it? It felt real.

"Yes," Jayne answered, hand clutched to her chest, "She was my best friend."

Hand in the ground. Body on the floor. Submersion. Needles. 

"I'm sorry." For a moment, Sam cautiously thought about whether or not he really wanted to get involved again. Slowly, tentatively, he eyed the safety of the doorway and then shuffled out with his arms firmly folded. 

The walls got closer. Shadows moved across the window that might have been branches. He blinked and Jayne was wearing a colorful jumpsuit and a wicked smile across a crimson backdrop. Another blink and the memory was hidden again. It wasn't her. But how could he be sure? She could be anyone. 

He stopped a safe distance away. Don't think about that. She was dead. Dead like Bernadette. "...I was the one that found her."

A beat. Somehow, Jayne didn't seem surprised by this revelation. "You knew where she was...didn't you?"

God. That was it, wasn't it? The ghost in the woods. Virgil was leading him there because  _Sam Rich_ knew where Bernadette was buried. His breathing quickened as he tried to puzzle together the fragments left in his mind. The boy knew something.  _He_ knew something.

Urgent now, Jayne hurried toward him with a plea. He staggered back with surprise. "You were there the night she died, weren't you? That's why you wouldn't talk about it."

Sam frowned. "I...I think I was."

Swallowing and closing her eyes, Jayne tried not to scare him in her desperation. She leaned down as if he were very small. "...did you see him, Sam? Did you see him hurt her?"

Sam, of course, had not been there. All he had were jumbled thoughts and sickening gut feelings. He shook his head, confused. "I-I...don't know..."

"Please! I know this is hard for you, Sam, but I need to know. Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Virgil?!"

The frantic girl before him was overwhelming. Flashing lights. Alarms. Red. Blinking rapidly, he shrank back. "I d-don't know. I don't r...remember."

"What's going on here?" Al had returned. Seeing Sam in distress had caused him to speak more gruffly than he'd intended. 

Wide eyed, Jayne suddenly became very cagey. She backed away, eyes darting back and forth. "I can't talk about this. I'm sorry!" And she took off downstairs. 

"Jayne!" Al called after her, but she was already out the door. He thought about chasing after her, but...he didn't want to leave Sam behind in this state. He craned his head back at his friend. "What happened?"

Sam's mouth hung open as he tried to keep himself grounded. He ran his fingers through his frazzled hair. "I think Sam Rich saw Bernadette get murdered...and Jayne might know who did it."

"That's right." It was Gooshie. He must have appeared in the middle of all of the excitement. He took no pleasure in confirming Sam's story. "When  Sam and his brother saw the murder, Virgil accidentally broke his neck while they tried to get away. Your guess was right on the money, Admiral."

"Sometimes I hate being right," Al grumbled, "So he told you who the son of a bitch was?"

"Er--not in so many words."

Al breathed through his nose and resisted the urge to chew him out. No one needed the added stress. At the very least he didn't need any more gray hairs. 

"It was a he," Sam provided, "Someone Sam and Jayne knew."

"Correct," Gooshie confirmed, raising the handlink, "Admiral Calavicci and I theorized earlier it was Bernadette's boyfriend, which Ziggy puts at a 89.38% chance of being correct. See, she was pregnant and...we found out who her boyfriend was." He eyed Al knowingly. "She was seeing Leonard Remo."

"I knew it! I knew that nozzle was involved!" Al punched at the air with righteous triumph. "And I bet his boss Templeton had something to do with covering it up." 

"Who're they?" Sam was horribly out of the loop.

"Oh, major sleazoids, Sam!" Al explained animatedly, gesturing with his hands, "Templeton is some land developer and he's been sending his goon Remo here to try and intimidate the Rich's into selling the property."

"But what does that have to do with killing Bernadette?"

"Obviously Remo wasn't ready to be a daddy, so he got rid of her. And it wouldn't exactly look good for business if Templeton's number two guy committed murder." Al's face became dark. "That son of a bitch killed them both. Do you think Jayne was there too?"

"It doesn't sound like she knew Bernadette was dead," Gooshie pointed out. 

"Right," Al remembered, deep in thought, "She must've suspected Remo, but she didn't have any proof. How much you wanna bet all those house visits weren't just to intimidate them into selling? If the sole living witness stayed scared, he'd never talk."

"And if he was too traumatized, they might eventually leave," Gooshie surmised, "So Templeton would gain a real advantage by helping him cover it up."

Hit with a sudden revelation, Al looked toward Sam with worry. "Oh no...then we gotta keep a close eye on Sam." 

Sam frowned. "Why?" 

"Because I don't think they're gonna be too happy about you digging up the body." 

The hard truth made all three of them tense. Whether Sam had intended to or not, it would seem the silent witness was finally opening up. Folding his arms and rapidly blinking, he shook his head. "Well, we--we know who did it, so we just send him to jail and I'll be safe..." 

"With what proof?" 

"Witness testimony."

"Sam, the only witness we have is in the Waiting Room."

"--and he's not talking." Gooshie added.

"Then I'll be the witness!" Sam burst out. He was getting frantic. "Just get me to the police station and then we can end this leap!"

"Okay, okay!" Al raised his hands placatingly. There was no reason for them to lose their cool when they basically had all the answers at this point. "We can do that, Sam, but not yet. First...we have a more pressing issue to deal with."

\-------

"A mudslide." Sam leaned back against the headboard of his temporary new bed. 

"Right, the murder is what I'd like to call a 'bonus.'" 

As if to mirror the leaper's good moods, the sky had become coal black as the rain gathered in preparation to destroy the Rich's home. Al was grateful his plan had worked without much resistance; now they, Jill, Hattie, Kolby, Sugarfoot and company, were all holed up at a friend's farm close to town. 

As usual, Sam was all nerves. Al told himself they were prepared; there was nothing to worry about. They just had to wait, because mother nature sure as hell wouldn't. Then they could take care of this business with that scumbag Remo. But...why did Al feel about as anxious as Sam? It just seemed too simple. 

Getting away from the mudslide was the easy part. Making sure Sam stayed alive was and had been the hardest part all leap. 

"I should've asked..."

Al turned from the window to see Sam looking down at his lap, almost mumbling to himself. "What, about the leap?"

"Yeah."

"Eh, you've had a lot on your mind. Besides, I had it covered." Al gestured around the room. "See? I got us here, didn't I?" 

Sam smiled weakly. "Yeah. I guess you did."

"You don't have to worry about anything," Al assured him, swiping his hands across each other, "Soon as this storm passes, I'll figure out how to nail that knucklenose Remo for Bernadette's murder and we'll leap. Easy peasy!"

"Al."

"Yeah?"

"What if...he finds me before then?"

Arms falling flat to his sides, Al cocked his head piteously and stepped closer. "He won't lay a hand on you, Sam. I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." 

There may not have been much Sam trusted at the moment, but Al was one of those things. He nodded and looked out the window. 

He should've asked. But did he care now because of the people they were here to help, or because his own life was at risk? Once again he was filled with shame. Where had he been all leap? How could he not know about any of this until now? And yet, even with this self-awareness, he still felt distanced from it, like he was astral projecting outside his body. 

A soft patter of rain was starting to come down. He wondered how long it would be before the house was gone. Everything in their lives was about to be washed away. "I wish..."

"Yeah?"

"I wish we could save their farm." 

He couldn't do much, but he could wish. Care, just a little. They mattered. This mattered. 

"Yeah. You and me both." Al watched the rain splat against the window alongside Sam before eyeing him thoughtfully. His next words were laced with double meaning. "But you know...they have each other. A home is more than just a place." 

Sam grinned again, but it was bittersweet. It seemed like such an impossible notion now. "Yeah."

He had Al, but he wasn't sure that was enough anymore. 

"You know what I'd like?" Al asked chipperly, turning his back to the window and strolling across the room. He took his hands out of his pockets, held them up, and mimed nothing in particular. "For the next leap...to be one of those song and dance leaps. Y'know?" He faced Sam again. "When you'd have to use your pipes and I'd teach you a few moves." He did a little dance to show off said moves. "Didn't we used to get those all the time? If you ask me, we're long overdue." 

He was trying to lighten the mood, but Sam wasn't taking the bait. In fact, he seemed even more depressed. Without responding to what he'd said, he grimaced and forced his legs over the side of the bed. 

Was Sam ever gonna get it through his thick skull that he needed to take care of himself? Al fumed. "Hey, I thought we agreed you were gonna take it easy?"

Steeling himself, Sam glanced up from under his brows. "I need to go to the bathroom." 

"...oh." Al backed off, but as Sam struggled to his feet, he awkwardly reached out. "Do you, uh, need any help, or...?"

"No."

Silence again. Al watched Sam hobble away through the open door and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

\-------

The next leap. Sam couldn't think about the next leap. He could barely keep his mind on this one. 

When Sam was 9, he went to see a Tarzan movie with Tom, decided to swing from the barn loft, and the rope loosened. He'd been scared, but it was only a close call. And when Tom told him to go tighten the knot, he got up there and suddenly...he couldn't move. He just kept thinking of falling. The ground got further and further and Tom laughed but he just got lost in his fear. He'd been too embarrassed to tell his brother why he was so frightened, but ever since then, he'd been terrified of heights. Of course, to a nine-year-old, everything is ten times worse. He saw himself falling in the barn and his mind had swallowed him up.

He felt himself falling now, perpetually, only this time Tom wasn't here to guide him down the ladder. What was it he had told him? He couldn't remember the exact words. Something about catching him and dribbling him down the court like a basketball. At the time it had seemed like the funniest thing in the world. 

If he asked Tom about it now he would laugh. He had a great laugh. He laughed when Sam told a particularly corny joke during his wedding toast. 

Splashing water on his face, Sam looked up at the mirror and once again saw his battered reflection under someone else's skin. 

And another person behind him. "Oh Samuel...you didn't think we were finished, did you?"

Crying out, Sam whipped around as fast as he could. But there was no one there. Clutching his aching chest with trembling hands, he angrily closed his eyes. He was alone. Don't think about it. Don't feel. Don't be. 

\-------

After he thought he couldn't hide in there any longer, Sam slowly opened the bathroom door. To his surprise, Hattie was waiting outside. Without prompting, she held out a stuffed rabbit. 

"You can hold him. That's what I do when I'm scared."

Sam didn't know what to say. His heart was touched enough to overcome his embarrassment. He accepted the rabbit and knelt down next to Hattie on his creaky knees. Meeting her eyes, he smiled joylessly. "Thank you."

Her arms wrapped around him. "I love you, Sam."

_Thud!_

Both of them nearly jumped out of their skins. Outside the window, a dark figure in a mask banged on the glass. 

Sam's heart stopped beating and he froze. The bangs became muffled as once again, he left his body toward someplace safer. Too terrified to speak, too terrified to act. He couldn't even scream.

Hattie could. And did.

Moments later, Al came barreling into the hallway. "What is it?!" 

Sam remained absent. 

"A man!" Hattie shrieked, pointing, "A man in the window!"

The figure disappeared into the gloom.

And Al wasn't gonna let Remo get away this time. He wouldnt let him kill Sam. Hell, he might not even live to see his trial by the time Al was done with him. 

"Stay here," Al ordered Sam. He continued to stare out the window. With more forceful assurance, Al doubled back and grabbed his shoulders. "I'm going to get him and everything's going to be alright. Okay?"

Sam nodded. It's all he could manage.

And with that, Al was gone. 


	8. Chapter 8

Avoiding the mudslide was one thing, but if they were going to put Remo away, Sam Rich was going to have to agree to testify once they were gone. And for that, they needed Gooshie. But Gooshie didn't want to hurt this boy any more. He just wanted to reassure him, tell him they knew what they were doing. Even though he wasn't entirely sure about that.

He found him hiding behind a book in the corner. If he heard him come in, he didn't react.

Gooshie cleared his throat. Nothing. "Hi."

The boy turned the page.

"That's um...a-a pretty good book, I imagine," Gooshie said almost casually, with a small gesture. His hand swerved up to scratch his head. "Er--anyway, I won't interrupt too long, I just wanted to give you a little update and say that you'll be going home soon."

Sam's eyes flickered up. Behind them there was some hope.

This encouraged Gooshie, who beamed. "That's right. And when you get back, things are going to be much better. My friends are fixing everything."

This was met with some skepticism. "...really?"

"Wellll..." Gooshie squinted one eye, leaning sideways. "Maybe not _everything_ everything, but they're fixing a lot. That's what we do here. We fix things."

Sam looked to Gooshie for help. "I'm scared to go back."

For the first time, Gooshie realized this wasn't really about him or his lack of confidence. The fact was, this boy needed them and he had to step up. Because...because they were important, damn it. That's why Edward St. John had wanted to blow them up. That's why he couldn't win.

Carefully stepping closer, Gooshie stooped down beside him with newfound assuredness. "Don't be scared. We know who he is, and he'll never hurt you again."

Tears welled up as a flood of repressed emotions came to the surface. The book thudded to the floor as the boy grasped his mouth and stared with huge, watery eyes. He dare not believe him, but what if it were true? "You...you promise?"

Gooshie was very serious now. "Yes. He's going away for a very long time." He looked away for a moment. "But, the thing is, I have to ask you to be brave, Sam. Once you get back, Mr. Remo can't stay in jail unless--"

Sam suddenly pulled away, stopping Gooshie in his tracks. But he couldn't give up now, not when they were so close.

"I know you're scared. But he can't hurt you if--"

The boy shook his head. "No. It's not Mr. Remo."

\-------

In a bout of frustration, Al ripped off his useless, rain-spattered glasses and tossed them aside. They'd done nothing but get in the way this whole leap, and it was too important for him to not mess this up. They may not have Remo for the murder but this was certainly enough to sit him in a police station for a while, and anywhere was better than near that family.

It felt good to be doing something tangible. Something he could fight for Sam. To say he did something for him. That he was useful.

This leap would be over soon. Maybe the next one wouldn't be so dangerous. At the very least, a change of scenery would be good for Sam. Somewhere new, somewhere happy. Yeah, could be Vegas. Would the kid like that? Well, he liked farms and this leap definitely hadn't been a walk in the park. How about a librarian? That sounded peaceful. Or...a paleontologist? Oh, he'd get a real kick out of that.

Al honestly didn't care who or where. Just that Sam could be happy.

There was Remo up ahead, losing steam from his head start. Al, however, was given a new burst of furious energy and charged forward, yanking him back and shoving him against a tree.

"Hey! Watch it!"

Just having him in his grasp made Al's blood boil. This sicko killed kids. Wanted to hurt the kid in the Waiting Room. Wanted to hurt _Sam._ "Where do you think you're going, Remo?" Al snarled, pulling off his mask. Remo stared at him through wide eyes, his unkempt hair fallen over his face. "Too scared to take on someone your own size?"

He wanted to hit him. To bang his head into the tree. To make him stop moving so Sam was _sure_ he wouldn't come after him again. He couldn't afford to mess up this time.

"Hey, I wasn't doin' nothin'," the man responded defensively, attempting to slide away. Immediately, he was slammed back.

"Oh, so I suppose you were just hanging around in a mask for fun?"

"You can't throw me in jail for that."

"Oh yeah? How about for the murder of Bernadette Ward?" With disgust, Al shoved the mask into Remo's chest.

For once, Remo seemed rattled. "What?"

"That's right. I know what you did and you're not gonna get away with it. And so help me, if you take one more step closer to my family you're not even gonna make it to a courtroom."

"Whoa! Wait a minute!" Raising his hands, Remo wriggled out from between Al and the tree. "I didn't kill Bernadette. I loved her."

This murderer was a real class act. "Oh yeah, you loved her so much you decided to dig her and your child a shallow grave."

"What?" The man looked genuinely heartbroken. The mask fell from his hands and his mouth fell agape. "She never told me she was pregnant..."

And now Al was beginning to have a creepy crawly feeling, because Remo didn't strike him as that good of an actor. "...you really didn't know, did you?"

Remo shook his head. This new revelation was too much for him to keep up his slimy act.

"Then what the hell were you creeping around in a mask for?"

"I wasn't gonna hurt anyone, honest! I--I was just tryin' to scare you. You know, make you think there was a burglar. I--I wouldn't kill anybody." Dumbstruck and devastated, Remo leaned against the tree and stared at the ground.

A pang of fear struck Al and made his heart pound, and he never thought he'd think this but he _really_ hoped this guy was a killer. Because if Remo wasn't lying, then they'd made a horrible mistake. _He'd_ made a horrible mistake. Again.

It almost sounded true.

"It's true!" Gooshie stumbled out of the Imaging Chamber covered in flop sweat. "Remo isn't the killer! Father Kolby is!"

\-------

The sound of rain pounding against Father Kolby's car surrounded Sam from all sides as he huddled in the back, too traumatized to move.

_"Don't make a scene. You wouldn't want Hattie to get hurt, would you?"_

_No more. No axes. No blood. No screaming._

He couldn't stop himself from shaking. He'd frozen in the moment, not knowing what else to do. Why didn't he fight back? The old Sam could do it. But terror paralyzed him, making his frail body even weaker.

Where was Al? He'd said it was safe. But Sam knew that couldn't be true. He knew it was only a matter of time before they came back. Before he was back on that table. They wouldn't let him escape.

And now death was going to find him.

\-------

Once again, Jayne found herself looking for Sam. She'd heard his family was staying with a friend after he found...

She'd choked in the moment. Being there, knowing that Kolby was downstairs, the very man who she just _knew_ took Bernadette's life...it was petrifying. Everything she'd worked for, every reason she'd pushed herself to help people, was thrown away in that moment of panic. She just needed Sam to tell her what she'd suspected all along. To give her proof.

She couldn't stay a coward. If Kolby did it once, he could do it again. She had to talk to Sam. They had to come forward. She pulled her car up to the house and raced through the rain toward the front door.

Marcus Lambert wasn't the one to answer this time. It was his daughter, Jill. She reacted with surprise. "Jayne."

"Oh--Mrs. Rich. I'm sorry to intrude, but I need to speak to Sam."

Jill was cagey, not wanting to be insensitive but still dealing with her own frayed nerves. "Jayne...I don't know if that's a good idea. He's still really fragile."

"I know, but it's important...please."

Maybe it was seeing Jayne shiver in the rain, but Jill gave in and opened the door. "Okay...come inside and dry off."

Jayne smiled appreciatively and ducked inside. As she was taking off her coat, Jill crossed the room toward the back hall. "I'll see if he's up for it."

Within a few minutes, Jill was back with a puzzled look. Sam wasn't back there. In fact, the house seemed oddly empty.

"Sam! Hattie!" A pause. She frowned. "Dad?"

Hattie poked her head around the corner. "Yes, Mommy?"

"Hattie, where's your brother and your grandfather?"

"Grandpa went to get the bad man..." Hattie stared at the floor and shuffled her feet.

Both women were on alert. Jayne closed in as a wide-eyed Jill stooped down fearfully. "What bad man, Hattie?"

"The man in the black mask."

"What?!" Jill grabbed her, holding her protectively close. "What happened?" A horrifying thought made it's way into her mind and she gasped. She had to keep Sam safe. "Baby, where's your brother?"

"Father Kolby said he was taking him to get something he forgot at the house."

This only made Jill more confused. What on earth was so important that they'd go out now without telling her? She was just upstairs. And now of all times. Something didn't seem right.

She startled when a hand snatched her by the arm and she looked up to see Jayne staring at her with urgency. "We have to find them. Your son is in horrible danger."

\-------

He'd kill Kolby, that son of a bitch. Al swore he would. If he so much as laid a finger on Sam, he was a dead man. No judge or jury. Just an executioner.

Why did this keep happening?! Al cursed himself. He used to be so good at this, and now he was next to useless. His legs took him as fast as he could back to the place they were staying. He didn't even go inside. Just hopped into the truck and took off.

Gooshie popped into the seat beside him. "They're headed for the swamp near the Rich's farm," he quickly informed him as he checked the handlink.

"Damn it!" Al burst out in anger, needing some release, "This is ridiculous! We should've known."

Shame-faced, Gooshie ducked his head low. "I know, Admiral. I'm sorry."

"No, it's not you," Al sighed, squeezing the steering wheel tight, "It's me. I was the one who was so focused on Templeton and Remo. If I'd thought outside of my own hunch, I would've done the sensible thing and called the police instead of running out on some wild goose chase and leaving Sam alone with that...that slime."

"You didn't have any way of knowing. _We're_ the ones with the information on the futu--"

"You don't understand, Gooshie, I promised him!" Al shouted as his hand slammed onto the steering wheel. Gooshie jumped in surprise. "I told him I would protect him. And now look. I can't even keep my one stupid promise!"

Ziggy squealed sadly. The lights lit up Gooshie's face in the storm-darkened truck.

"...you got him out of that other project. I think that counts for something."

Eyelids lowered, Al glanced sideways at the hologram next to him. "He's gonna kill him, Gooshie."

"He's not dead yet."

Silence. Al still had time to change things.

Clearing his throat, Gooshie checked the handlink and spoke authoritatively. "...so if I were you, I'd step on it. You're the only thing stopping Sam Rich's partially-eaten remains from being found two days from now."

"Eaten?!" Al asked with alarm.

"As in gator food."

Al's foot slammed on the gas so hard the truck jumped forward and left Gooshie's image behind. He wasn't going to let self-pity get in the way of saving his best friend.

\-------

When the Imaging Chamber rearranged itself, Gooshie found himself in the backseat of another vehicle next to a shaken Sam. "Ah! Doctor Beckett!"

Sam didn't even look. He just stared straight ahead, breath jagged and gasping.

"Oh no, not again..." Sam had stepped out. Gooshie didn't like this one bit. His gaze edged over to the back of Father Kolby's head.

The man adjusted the mirror to see Sam, minus the non-reflective hologram next to him. "It won't be long now, Sam," he said gently, like he was simply comforting a distraught child.

"If you can hear me, Doctor Beckett, don't be scared," Gooshie said encouragingly, "Admiral Calavicci is coming to rescue you."

It might not've appeared like it, but Sam was listening. And he'd been "rescued" before.

\-------

Tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, Al glanced resentfully upward. It was time he and God, Time, Fate, or Whatever had a serious conversation. "Alright...I don't know if you're listening now, but I figured I better give something a shot." He coughed and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I know you and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye, but Sam is a good kid. He's done nothing but what you've asked for seven years. In my eyes, I figure that makes him some kinda saint. I hope that's worth something to you."

He sighed heavily. This was nuts.

Looking up again, he made one simple, desperate request: "Just please...give him a break."

\-------

Once they'd driven as far as Kolby could go into the dark, smothering swampland, the door swung open and Sam retreated as far back as he could go. "Come with me, Sam. Be a good boy."

"I don't want to go," Sam whispered.

Betraying his anger, Kolby snatched him by the broken wrist and Sam cried out. He was yanked forward and the ensuing jolt of pain knocked the wind out of him. "Don't argue with your elders."

Sam gasped in an attempt to say something, but his throat closed off. Kolby began to drag him further into the swamp, his feet dragging through the mud.

_"No, no, please stop! I'll do anything, just stop!"_

_Edward St. John chuckled softly. At his signal, Zoey snapped back Sam's wrist and he heard bone crunch._

Water splashing. Sam's feet were wet. He had begun to wade into a river.

_They held his head under. His lungs screamed silently as consciousness began to leave him._

Kolby had a knife pointed at him.

_Shallow cuts, long cuts. The sting and then the burn._

He wanted him to get in. Glancing back with fear, Sam saw the familiar ridges of an alligator's back slowly glide across the water. His only choice now was how he was going to die.

He was never meant to escape. Al had tried but he was running on borrowed time. But oh how he wanted just a little bit more.

Sam suddenly shrank even smaller. Face contorted, he begged, "Please...don't hurt me..."

"I hope you understand why I'm doing this," Kolby said softly. He almost seemed _sorry._ Strangely, his hands were also shaking. "But no one can ever know what I did to Bernadette."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear..."

"People around here look up to me. If they knew a son of God got an unwedded girl pregnant...they would lose their faith." Kolby gripped the knife harder, looking skyward as his mouth trembled. "But man is a sinner. Every man. People need me to be something I'm not. They have to believe the lie so I can save them."

He edged closer to Sam, who stumbled further into the water. The ridges drifted closer as Sam's mind ran at a million miles an hour, overwhelmed with images he couldn't shake.

_He doesn't like it when you put right what he made wrong._

Not God. The Devil. And he'd found him.

Once again, his thoughts were with his family. His parents, his brother, his sister. Those gone and those who were no longer gone. And he let out a soft sob. "I'm sorry..."

"KOLBY!" Both men jumped as they saw Al barreling through the trees, nearly slipping and falling on his face as the rain made the mud even thicker. "Let him go!"

But Kolby raised the knife higher. "Step any closer and I'll do it, Marcus."

"I've already told the police about Bernadette." As Al edged closer, he hoped Kolby bought the lie. He was very good at that when he needed to be. "Killing Sam won't accomplish anything. It's too late. Your secret's out."

The stages of grief all seemed to pass over Kolby at once. His plan, his flock. All gone. And these two were the ones who stole everything from him.

Livid, tortured, he returned his attention back to Sam. "You've doomed us all."

Lightning struck as he raised the knife for a fatal blow. Just as quickly as he'd moved, Al tackled him into the river.

Gasping, Sam shivered and stared at the muddy water. For a moment, the surface was still. "Al...?"

In a loud burst, the grappling men surfaced as Kolby wrenched the knife back and pulled away. Spluttering out the heinous swamp water, Al tried to catch his breath.

Sam, meanwhile, was paralyzed with fear. Kolby seized upon the opportunity to wade toward him. Unbeknownst to him, the ridges on the surface were getting very close.

Hand whipping out of the water, Al furiously pointed. "This is your only warning, Kolby! You touch him and I'll kill you!"

Ignoring him, Kolby once again raised his knife. But before Al had a chance to intervene, a rock suddenly struck the priest in the head. The blow set him off balance and he fell back into the open jaws of a very pissed off alligator.

Gruesome crunching overlapped the gurgled screams before the man disappeared under the surface and the water turned red.

Al shuddered. Tina's crocodile never did _that._

Turning to see where the rock had come from, he discovered Jayne standing on the bank with her jaw set grimly. It was done. Bernadette and Virgil's killer was gone forever.

Al gratefully tipped his head. "Thanks."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sam, are you...?" He trailed off when he saw Sam was gone. He was just able to glimpse him disappearing into the trees. "Sam! Hey!"

Sloshing through the water, Al struggled to get out of the river to chase after him. Jayne stayed behind, staring at the crimson water with finality.

\-------

Al might have been slow to get out, but it still wasn't hard to close in on Sam. But it wasn't for Sam's lack of effort. Frantic, panicked, he was determined to run as far and as fast as he could. Al didn't blame him. It couldn't have been easy to see that, to go through that again. But Sam wasn't thinking straight.

"Wait up! Sam!"

But Sam wouldn't listen. Nevertheless, he was slowing down. Al could see the agony in his face as he tried to force his body to keep going.

Al's side was also giving him trouble, but not enough to keep him from his friend. By now, he was about ten feet away. "Sam, just stop! He's dead! He can't hurt you now!"

Sam was losing steam fast, gripping branches to try and support himself. Finally, he couldn't go any further. He stumbled into a tree trunk and panted for air, wiping the rain out of his eyes.

Al furrowed his brows as he slowly rolled to a stop. "Sam...it's over."

"It's never over, Al!" Sam exploded, his voice breaking. He wasn't the frightened child he was minutes ago. His fury mixed with inconsolable sorrow. "I--I dream about them at night! Every time I close my eyes, they're there, and--and I _feel_ it happen all over again!" He wrapped his arms around himself, breaking down into bitter sobs. "I couldn't stop them, Al! God, I tried, and I just couldn't stop them!"

It was everything Al could do not to break down with him. Sam was broken. _They_ were broken.

"Look at me!" Sam yelled, clutching his soaking shirt, "I can't even go home now!" Wide-eyed, he stared ahead in horror, mouth agape. "Can you imagine the--the shame if my mother saw what her son became?! I'm nothing now!"

Nothing. Nothing like the hole that had filled Al for so long.

Sam had fallen against the tree, shaking with grief. Looking to Al for some sort of help, anything, he spoke softly as he slid to the ground. "I just want everything to be like it was again, Al. When is it going to be like it was...?"

Like the men in the hospital with hollow eyes. Al hadn't had answers then, but he did now.

"Sam...I'm gonna tell you something I wish someone had told me thirty years ago." Al waited for Sam to look up. This was a hard truth but he was gentle. "That old Sam? He's gone. And he's _never_ coming back."

Whatever dim light of hope was left in Sam was snuffed out at these words. Gone. Forever.

"But the _new_ Sam, once you get to know him...I think you'll find he's a pretty terrific guy too. And I think you're being a little too hard on him." Something registered with these words. Sam was hanging onto each and every syllable as Al squatted down next to him. "It's not your fault, Sam. It's not. You know why they did this to you? Because you represent everything they aren't. You're kind, and caring, and the furthest thing from everything in that place. And you survived for a reason. The world needs you, Sam. I need you."

Sam met his eyes...and he understood. He understood everything. Mouth quivering, he breathed raggedly and confessed, "I lied, Al...I'm not okay."

"I know."

He was resolute now. "And it's not my fault. I didn't deserve it."

"I know that too."

Sam had accepted the truth. Now that he'd finally forgiven himself, his head fell into his hands and he wept. Al wrapped his arms around him, two friends huddled together in the storm.

\-------

"Sam! Father Kolby!"

Jill came crashing into her home, searching desperately for her son and the man who had taken him. If it was true what Jayne had told her, Kolby was not only responsible for Bernadette Ward's death, but Virgil's as well. She wasn't going to cry anymore. Her belly had once again been filled with the righteous fury she'd felt the moment she heard Sam had fallen out of that tree. This monster was going to pay for what he'd done. He wasn't going to take another son away.

She'd split up with Jayne to cover more ground. And he'd better hope Jayne found him first, or he was a dead man.

Just up the mountain behind the house, the rain started the pour down harder and the loose soil began to shift.

\-------

"Is...is everything alright?" Jayne cautiously approached Marcus and his grandson, wary of interrupting a private moment.

The two of them parted, Sam sniffing and wiping his eyes with a nod. Al grinned tightly. He'd say it for assurance, but he had a feeling Sam knew now: "It will be."

"Not for long, unfortunately." It was Gooshie again, holding the handlink nervously. He addressed the only two who could see or hear him. "According to Ziggy, there's still one casualty in the mudslide. Jill Rich is inside the house, and she's going to die in twenty minutes!"

Once again, Sam was beginning to quiver. If the mudslide was coming for her, it was coming for them. He felt small imagining the wave of mud burying him forever. Going under like he had before. He'd only just survived again.

How many chances would he get before his time ran out?

Al, on the other hand, was feeling tired. They didn't get to rest for two seconds, did they? They didn't even have time to be annoyed. Al addressed Jayne as he helped a shaken and distant Sam out of the mud. "Jayne, it's still not safe out here. Don't ask me to explain, but you have get out as soon as possible."

"O--Okay--But Jill is back at the house..."

"I'll go get her. My truck is parked just over that way." He pointed, then reached into his pocket and tossed her the keys. All the while, he was leading Sam toward her. "I need you to take Sam and drive as fast as you can."

"Wait--" Sam pulled away, furrowing his brows. He was present again. "What--What about you?"

Al was his anchor. He couldn't lose him. But more than that, Sam owed him too much to leave him behind. If only he could summon the bravery he used to have once again, instead of being ruled by crippling cowardice.

Things were urgent, but Al still managed to stay calm. He met Sam's eyes and said with assurance, "I'll be right behind you, kid. Trust me, it's better this way. We have to be fast."

He was sparing him further embarrassment; he knew Sam was still dreadfully afraid. But that was alright. He'd finish the leap for them.

Sam wished he felt as certain as Al sounded, but his fear overcame everything else. He couldn't go back in that house, not knowing certain death was so imminent. Not when he had slipped through its fingers once again.

"Let's go, Sam," Jayne insisted. She didn't know exactly what was happening, but if Marcus said they were in danger she believed him. She reached out her hand toward Sam.

With enormous trepidation, he took her hand and left Al behind.


	9. Chapter 9

Excruciatingly aware of the ticking clock, Al ran as quickly as he could through the forest and toward the Rich house. Just ahead of him, Gooshie was popping in and out of sight, encouraging him forward. It was going to be tight, but he had just enough time if they moved fast. This was the moment of truth. As soon as he saved Jill, they were out of there.

Sam was safe now, and Bernadette's killer had been brought to justice. No matter what happened after this, Al was glad that at least he had that. And he was certain that with a lot of work, Sam would be okay. Not immediately, but after a rocky climb...he'd find life after death.

Al had been wrong before. Sam had become like him after all. And he was damn proud of him.

\-------

The longer Jill searched her home and found it empty, the more panic rose within her. If he wasn't here, he was out there with him. Why had she decided to search the house?! He needed her! She stormed down the stairs, taking two at a time, and her gaze fell on the family portrait on the mantle.

Too many of them were missing now. Oh...Virgil. He must have been so scared. If she had only called them in earlier, if she'd held him a little tighter the last time she hugged him. Would she ever be able to hold Sam again? Tell him she loved him? Make up for what she couldn't do for her lost child?

She was frozen in grief.

The door burst open and she screamed in surprise, spinning around to face her father. Soaking with rain and sweat, he urgently staggered over to her and gasped for breath.

"Dad--!"

"No time--to talk--we've--gotta leave--!"

As he grabbed her shoulders, she flailed away. "No, I have to look for Sam! Father Kolby's going to kill him!"

"Jill!" There was a command in his voice she'd never heard before. Her father looked her straight in the eyes, still trying to catch his breath. "Sam's okay...and Kolby's dead. He can't hurt anyone else."

It hit her like a mack truck. Kolby was dead. Closing her eyes, she absorbed this information and felt herself utterly unable to move forward. She didn't know or care how it happened. She had done nothing to stop it. With no one left to be angry at, her fury turned inward. A moan left her lips as she sank to the floor in pain.

Silence. Al was anxious to go, but unsure how to get her moving. Sam was okay. That was good news, wasn't it?

"3 minutes, Admiral..." Gooshie informed him anxiously. They needed to get into Jayne's car and drive _now_.

Face contorted in confusion, Jill looked up at Al. "Why couldn't I save him, Daddy? Why couldn't I save him?"

It wasn't just Sam. Virgil too. Now Al understood. He knew how she felt, because he'd needed to face this truth himself. Maybe this was part if why he leaped here too, for both of them.

Eyes sad, he knelt down beside his borrowed daughter. "You can't be there for them all the time, Jill. You can't always protect them."

Eyes furious, she dug her nails into the floor. "I was his mother, damn it!"

"Admiral!"

Al gave Gooshie a warning glare before returning his attention to Jill. This was important. "And you're a damn good one! Virgil wouldn't blame you and neither does Sam. They love you."

She couldn't argue against that; think so little of her sons. Tell her father it wasn't true when she saw the same thing in him. She loved him. Always. "I tried my best, Dad..."

"And that's all you can do. Trust me, I know."

Their eyes met with understanding. The rain pounded against the windows as Al gave an encouraging grin. They were protectors, Observers, and human. As much as they wanted to extend their capabilities, they were limited by the same failings as everyone else. As long as they kept trying, that was what mattered.

" _Admiral!_ "

They rose together, boosted up by each other's support. But Al wasn't exactly at ease. "Jill, I'm sorry to rush things, but we really have to go now."

She frowned. "Why?"

At that moment, they heard the sound of trees snapping outside.

Gooshie gulped. "Too late..."

"Oh no..."

Within seconds, there was a loud crack as the mudslide reached the house.

\-------

Every bump they hit as Jayne drove Sam away from...she didn't know what, made Sam's body hurt. The ache inside him grew and grew, filling his stomach with cement, and he realized it was the crushing weight of guilt.

He couldn't sustain this. If he kept leaping like he was, he'd kill himself.

Whatever was left of him knew Al was in trouble. And this was wrong. No, the more he thought about it, this wasn't just guilt. His intuition, his leaping senses...everything told him that this wasn't what he was meant to be doing.

His arms shot out and he gripped the dashboard urgently.

Jayne gasped in surprise. "Sam, what--?"

"We have to turn around. Now."

\-------

"Admiral? Admiral, wake up!"

"Huh...?"

Well, he wasn't dead. Al was pretty sure he'd know if he was. And, as awareness came back to him, the pain in his leg told him he was very much still alive. Plus, if he was dead, he wouldn't be hearing Gooshie. If he went to Heaven anyway.

A figure in a white lab coat blurred into view. "Admiral, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Nngh...yeah...my leg's just pinned..." Al groaned as he looked to see what it was, then consciousness came fully to him as adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

It was a beam from the house. The currently collapsed house they were sitting in. He was half-buried in mud with an unconscious Jill next to him, and another beam just barely holding up the small section of what was once the living room. The wood creaked and strained under the weight, already bending unsteadily. As soon as it gave way, they were finished.

"Jill...?!" Suddenly concerned for her, Al hoped she was able to get up, though his frightened eyes never left the beam.

"She's just out," Gooshie assured him as he stepped easily through the Imaging Chamber to check on her. That was a small relief. "It's amazing you two survived. This room is going to come down any minute!"

Al nodded weakly. "Yeah, I got that, Gooshie..."

"Can you move that off of you?"

Al wasn't sure. Bracing himself, he tried to push the weight off of his leg, but it was wedged there under mud and heavy debris. After straining for a bit, he grunted and fell back in frustration. "Damn it! It's stuck..."

"Don't worry, Admiral." The programmer was frantically pressing buttons. "I'm going to get help."

"I'm not going anywhere..."

With that, Gooshie popped out. Get help. Right. Al would laugh if he didn't think it would set the whole thing off. Thanks to him, his only chance was miles away by now.

\-------

"Dr. Beck--ett?" Gooshie appeared in the bed of the Rich truck, half-stuck in tools and a coil of rope, and facing the wrong way. He'd been expecting them to be driving in the opposite direction. Spinning himself around and pushing his face though the rear window, he saw Sam crane his neck back with a look of acknowledgement. "Admiral Calavicci--oh, you know..." He blew out a breath. Of course Dr. Beckett was coming back. "He and Jill are trapped inside the house. Ziggy says they've got a 64.38% chance of getting out before it collapses." Alarm registered on Sam's face, but he couldn't say anything. His expression begged for more information. "Just keep going. I'll show you where they are."

\-------

Another creak and the beam shifted. Al gasped, forgetting to breathe for a minute. But thankfully, the roof stayed up.

He wished he felt any better. This room was small and the walls seemed to be closing in, his claustrophobia making it harder for him to concentrate. What if this was it? His last moments. Covered in mud in a tiny hut. He should've known.

He wasn't even badly injured. Just stuck. But Jill was out like a light, no matter how loudly he yelled, and he couldn't move this beam on his own. What kind of nonsense was that? To let them survive and then kill them so pointlessly?

...what would the kid do without him? Al felt a creeping guilt like he was letting Sam down again. Well...his friend had made it this far. He'd make it on his own, just like before. Al just wished he could tell him goodbye. God, why was it so cramped in here?

He looked past the ceiling and skyward: _Please let him go home. Just let him go home._

A whimper. Jill began to stir and Al suddenly brightened. "Oh! Jill! Wake up!" With a chuckle, he once again looked toward the Big Cheese. "Ha! You don't quite have me yet."

"Dad...? What's...?" With a gasp, Jill sat up and took in their surroundings. Eyes wide, she was barely able to process the danger they were in. "Oh my god...!" Head whipping toward Al, she noticed the beam pinning him down. "Dad!" Clumsily, undignified, she sloshed through the mud on her hands and knees until she reached her father.

"I'm okay, I'm just stuck," Al explained, gripping the beam, "Help me out, will ya?" Jill nodded, also taking hold of the beam. And with a loud grunt, she and Al began to simultaneously push and pull. And push. And pull.

The beam nudged slightly, pressing painfully into Al's leg, and he groaned and kept pushing. But it wasn't moving. His heart sank as he realized it still wasn't going anywhere.

And above them, the beam creaked again. Jill yelped with surprise, piecing together just how precarious their situation was. "Oh my god...Dad, it's going to fall."

"Yeah..." Adrift for a moment, Al stared at sinking roof and shrinking walls.

Was this really the end? Really? Really.

He supposed his ex-wives would be happy. That was a positive. And maybe, if he had earned any sort of cosmic good will, Gooshie would return in time for him to relay his final goodbye. Whatever the hell that would be.

But he couldn't choke. He had a responsibility. "Jill...you have to get out now."

"No. I'll stay with you until help arrives." She was in denial. Not another one. Wild-eyed, her head shook and rattled her mud-clumped hair. Slowly, she felt his hand clasp hers.

"You can't wait that long, and you aren't dying today."

Strange, but for a moment she thought those weren't her father's eyes.

"Now go."

Creaking. Dirt crumbled from the ceiling and lightly dusted them. Jill knew time was short. Putting on a brave face, she squeezed his hand hard. "...I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too. Now get outta here."

No more crying. With unspeakable agony, Jill ripped herself away from her father and crawled toward the window. She couldn't look back. Couldn't see his heart break knowing this was their last moments.

The window had nearly shattered, the brown mass outside pressing hard against the glass. Finding a stool embedded in the mud, she lifted it and put all of her strength into completing the break. The glass fell apart and the mud came sliding in, fast at first, before slowing down, and she thought she could see a little bit of light. Biting her lip, she pushed herself up through the window and began to dig her way to the surface.

Leaving her father behind. This couldn't be happening. The light seemed further and further away, slipping from her grasp as despair tried to overtake her, but she kept fighting. Fought for her children. Her hand burst from the mud into clean air. Oh Sam! Oh Hattie! Oh Dad!

Suddenly, a hand grasped hers and she gasped. Then two hands. Then four. Two people were pulling her up, and she reached the surface with a loud inhale.

It was Sam and Jayne. And, unseen by her, a hologram. A little ways back their truck was struck in the mud, driven as far as it could go.

"Jill!" Jayne reached out to check her over, but the panicked mother only saw Sam.

"Sam!" Jill exclaimed, throwing her muddy form around her son, "Oh my baby! I thought I'd never see you again! Are you okay?!"

It seemed strange that she was the one asking. Gingerly pulling himself away, Sam nodded. "Are you?"

"I'm fine, but your grandfather--" Suddenly, she realized they had a chance. She whipped around toward Jayne. "Jayne! He's trapped inside! There's--there's a beam on top of him and we couldn't move it!"

"Do you think we could move it together?"

"I don't know..." Jill held her head, thinking. 

"Ziggy says there's a 73.19% chance if any of you go inside it'll collapse," Gooshie warned, squeezing the handlink hard, "It's too unstable." He began to push more buttons in search of answers. The outlook wasn't good.

"We can't just leave him in there..." Sam said under his breath. As he stared at the entrance they'd made, the soggy mess seeping into itself, he started to shake. Imagined slowly suffocating inside it.

"Of course not," Jayne said, putting a gentle arm around him, "We'll figure something out, Sam."

"Rope!" An idea suddenly struck Jill. Without wasting time, she began to trudge through the mud and toward their vehicle. "We can tie it onto the beam and pull it out with the truck!"

"That's a great idea! Wait here, Sam." Excited to put this plan forth, Jayne squished over to help.

"Th-that sounds awful dangerous, Dr. Beckett..."

But Sam wasn't listening. He was staring. Heard voices.

_We're taking him, Samuel. And then we're going to take you._

_Head underwater, drowning, freezing._

"Dr. Beckett?"

The two women had returned. "One of us has to go back inside and tie it," Jill explained. She held the rope tightly in her hand. It was obviously going to be her, but she knew how dangerous this was.

"...I'll do it."

It was Sam. The others, hologram included, reacted in surprise.

He was still trembling. But he lifted his head, acting more sure than he was, and set his jaw resolutely. "I'll go in."

"Absolutely not." Jill half laughed, nearly at her wits end. Why was her son suddenly so brave at the absolute wrong time? She couldn't imagine what he was thinking. "It isn't safe."

"And it's safe for you?"

Once again, Jayne was trying to comfort what she saw as a scared child. "Sam, you're hurt. We'll take care of this."

"Listen to Jayne. She's your nurse." There wasn't time to argue. Jill started to squish through the mud again, but Sam stepped in her way.

"No. I'm doing it. Besides, I'm smaller," Sam lied, taking advantage of what he looked like, "It makes more sense for me to go."

Gooshie frowned. "No, you aren't--"

"Please. I have to do this."

Sam stared at Jill and she saw whatever she'd seen in her father's eyes when he told her to go. Something was different about her son. God help her, but she was considering it.

Straightening up, she looked at him with understanding and held out the rope. "We'll do it together."

She needed this too. You can't protect everyone, but you have to try. Sam placed his hands, his dirty cast, over hers. Together.

\-------

Sam tried to ignore his ribs as he got onto his stomach and began to dig his way through the closing gap leading into the remnants of the Rich house. No matter what he felt, he had to focus on Al. Which was difficult, because his thoughts were dominated by death.

The leaps had gotten so much harder than he'd expected. Either they'd grown worse or he'd grown tired or old; when he looked into the future it was hard not to see a grim fate looming just ahead. It had always been a possibility, but now that he'd been so close, it was all too real. As he was strapped to that table, the specter of the next life--if indeed there was one--looming over him, he'd been left with nothing but time to imagine the things he still wanted to do. He wasn't ready to die. And now all that was left was to scramble through leaps, terrified, and hope that this wasn't the last. He wasn't free, just displaced. By going into this house, he was putting himself back onto that table and sealing his fate.

And if he left Al in there, he'd be burying himself. No matter how terrified he was, no matter how much pain he was in, he had to keep fighting. For Al, for the Rich family, for _his_ family...for his soul. He wasn't sure how much he had left, but if he didn't give it, it would be worse than death.

He hadn't wanted to die, but for the first time since he'd leaped here, he wanted to live.

He broke through the mud and slid suddenly down from the window, landing with a splat. Biting back a yelp, he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up. Not the most graceful entrance.

A gasp. "Sam?! What the hell are you doing in here?" Al sat up as well as he could, eyes wide with shock. He was stuck under a piece of the house, looking dirty but otherwise not badly injured.

Jill was right behind Sam with the rope, hauling him to his feet. "Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah..." he grunted, steadying himself, "let's go..."

Behind them, the window frame began to sag under the weight of the mud, knocked loose by their entrance. This place was barely standing.

This wasn't lost on Al. He hadn't worked so hard this leap only to take these two with him now. "You gotta leave! It's gonna collapse!" His eyes flickered over to the beam above, which had begun to crack. But Sam and Jill continued forward anyway. "Don't you hear me?!"

"Shut up and let us save your life, Dad," Jill panted. Handing the rope off to her son, Sam began to tie it around the beam pinning Al as she made her way behind her father. He fumbled a bit as his cast got in the way.

"Saaam..."

"We're all getting out!" Sam shouted with frustration, "All of us or none of us!" Looking up from the rope, Al could suddenly see how terrified he was. His Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed and his mouth thinned. More quietly, "...okay?"

Jill looked at her son and had never been more proud. Their fractured family was together again.

_Craa-aack..._

The three of them held their breath. It was nearly gone.

Al met Sam's eyes again, understanding. He nodded. "Let's blow this place."

A tight grin. Sam finished securing the rope. "I've got it."

"Okay. On three. Ready, Dad?" Jill braced herself around Al, ready to pull him out of the mud so they could move quickly. The beam above began to shift and the roof began to lower.

"Ready!"

"One...two...three!"

Sam pulled on the rope to signal Jayne to drive. It pulled taut and, after a struggle, the beam began to slurp out of the mud. As soon as it started to loosen, Jill pulled with all her strength as Al pushed himself out. And then, gloriously, he was free!

And the beam above was almost free too. It wobbled dangerously, nearly split in two now, as debris began to drop.

"Move!" Sam shouted, rushing over to help Jill and Al wobble out. He wasn't going to receive any arguments. The three of them clumsily made their way to the collapsing window, pushing their way through one by one as the beam finally broke and the roof collapsed.

\-------

Three mud-covered bodies fell to the ground, exhausted. Before Al had a chance to catch his breath, Jill had hugged him tightly with a squish. "Oh, Dad! We got you! We got you!"

"Er--you sure--did," Al panted, struggling to breathe under her tight grip. He smiled and hugged her back with his free arm. "Thanks..."

More squishing. Jayne was rushing over with a big smile on her face. "You made it! Thank god!"

"That was a close one!" They weren't the only ones celebrating. A red-headed hologram was breathing more easily, doubled over with relief. After this leaping double feature, he'd be glad when he could finally relax. As much as he ever relaxed anyway. He couldn't wait to see Tina again.

The boy in the Waiting Room could finally have peace. He was glad that, if just in a small way, he was able to help fix this family. And seeing the way Dr. Beckett had so bravely faced his fears, he felt he should give himself a little credit for his part in getting the leapers to talk through their issues. Just a nudge in the right direction, but that's what he was here for.

Ziggy chirped and he chuckled. "Oh, and Ziggy says good job."

Al smirked as Gooshie began to punch buttons on the handlink to find out what the future held. The sound of laughter and cheering began to fade away as he looked toward Sam, who lay on his back with his eyes closed. He'd faced it, and now he could rest his shot nerves. Everyone was okay.

"You came back for me, Sam."

Sam opened one eye, then smiled weakly. "I'll always find you, Al...farthest time...farthest place."

Hearing his own words echoed back, Al grinned gratefully. At last, he'd found Sam like he promised.

A blue haze began to form, growing brighter and brighter, until it was blinding white. A warmness, unlike leaps they'd had before, washed over the two men as they left 1973 and entered another place.

\-------

When the light faded, they found themselves standing in a beautiful sunrise, the only sound birds in the distance and gentle waves rolling in. It was...peaceful. They couldn't place why, but neither of them were worried about the time or place. They felt like they belonged here.

Strange. Did they belong anywhere?

Sam looked at Al, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, then looked down at himself. He was dressed in a loose white shirt and khakis, billowing slightly in the breeze. And he was completely healed. No cast, no bandages. No pain.

Al gaped for a moment before smiling. "You look good, Sam."

"I..." Sam felt his chest, just to make sure. "I feel good. Where are we?"

Observing his surroundings very quickly and noticing the palm trees and beach, Al pulled at his shirt to indicate the pattern. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say Hawaii."

But Sam wasn't paying attention now. Mouth slack, he slowly walked past Al toward something shocking. "Oh my god..."

"What is it?" Al spun around to face him.

There was a mailbox: BONNICK. Sam ran his fingers over it, brows furrowed in concentration. "Bonnick...Katie married someone named Bonnick..." He closed his eyes and bit back a grin. Craning his head back, he looked at the house behind them and knew.

This place, this time, these clothes. Theirs.

"Al...my sister and my mother are in there. We're home."

They'd done it.

Al couldn't believe it. He could almost cry. It had actually worked. GTFW had heard him and finally, finally given Sam something in return. He needed this. He deserved it. It filled him with joy just to see the look on his friend's face, to know that his long journey was done.

Sam Beckett finally leaped home.

But then...something felt unfinished.

Sam blinked back tears as he took a few tentative steps toward the house, overwhelmed with joy. No doubt was in his mind. He was back, and inside his family was waiting. It was over. He couldn't wait to see them, to hold them, to tell them he loved them. To rest.

Behind him, Al was also certain. As Sam, breathing hard, began to move faster, he stayed in place.

"C'mon, Al," Sam breathed excitedly, "You coming?"

"I don't think so."

Sam craned his head back with amusement. He thought he was joking. "What?"

But Al wasn't smiling. Sam staggered to a stop, confused. His friend was staring at the house, but he seemed sad.

Why wasn't he moving?

"I don't think this leap is for me, Sam."

Not for him? They were so close. "What're you talking about?"

Placing his hands in his pockets, Al lifted a single shoulder as he stared ahead wistfully. "I think...I think this one's just for you."

"No." Sam began to track back, shaking his head. Why did Al always have to argue? "No, we're home, Al. You've gotta come in with me. See my family. They'll--They'll be happy to see you, I know they will."

"I'm sure they would...but I've gotta go." Al met his eyes apologetically. This wasn't his choice.

Sam frowned, swallowing. He stopped, still some distance between them, and they stood in silence for a moment. He couldn't argue. As much as he fought it, he felt exactly what he did. Knew what he knew. And it was right. "It's not over...is it?"

"I never said it would be easy," Al reminded him, joking through his sadness. He shrugged again. "I know. We're saints. At least priests can quit."

"That's true," Sam said thoughtfully, "But they can also take sabbaticals."

They both paused and stared. They'd heard those words somewhere, but neither of them could place where or when. But that's what this was. Sam's reward. A break before he continued his work, to show that he'd done well. He'd changed so many lives, and now it was his turn.

It wasn't a sad moment at all. How lucky they were that they were able to right so many wrongs.

"So why don't you quit worryin' about me and enjoy it? You earned it."

Sam was quiet, wearing a bittersweet smile. He was ready.

"Now get inside, will ya?" Al sniffed, wiping at his eye dismissively, "They're waiting."

"I'll find you, Al."

"...I know you will."

Al returned the grin, a twinkle in his eye. This wasn't the end, and when Sam was finished, he'd be back. But this was his time now.

Lifting his hand, Al gave him a wave just like old times...when the leap was over, history was right again, and he bid Sam a safe journey. "You did it, Sam."

"You did it, Al."

Breaking into a tearful smile, Sam watched as his friend became encased in blue lightning, crackled, and disappeared into another place and time. He closed his eyes, letting the soft wind blow over his face. And he was happy.

Turning back, he walked the rest of the way to the door and knocked. Within moments, he was in the warm embrace of his sister and mother, at long last.

He was home.


End file.
